


The Price

by Trin303



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Hunger Games, Hunger Games AU, Not everyone dies, The Hunger Games AU no one asked for, Tibute! John Wick, Tribute! Helen Wick, Underage Sex, a mix of hunger games canon meets the underworld, because technically John and Helen are both seventeen, but lots do, helen wick deserved better, just kidding, rated E for 'Everyone dies'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26451700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trin303/pseuds/Trin303
Summary: When Helen volunteers to take her sister's, Daisy's, spot in the 74th Hunger Games, she knows she has been marked for death. She vows to make the best of her last days at the Continental Training Center but is falls in over her head when she catches the attention of District 1 Tribute John Wick.
Relationships: Helen Wick/John Wick
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Everything has a price.

The news has been covering it for weeks now, filling all of District 12 with a source of dread. The countdown is on and soon we would be released from school to go to the reaping. My own name would be on three slips out of the thousands soon to be pulled. 

Classes have been suspended in favor of watching as tributes volunteered or were chosen from the other districts. The most exciting had been early this morning. The entire school had been twittering about John Wick, the handsome seventeen-year-old who had volunteered from District 1, to the surprise of absolutely no one. He had been on the news last year when he had entered his own name a record hundred times into the lottery. This year, his final year, he had volunteered. 

He had gone along with some girl called Perkins, who lived up to her name as a perky brunette. While Wick seemed cool and collected, she seemed to be overly excited to compete, telling the cameras that District 1 would be arising victorious this year. 

The tributes from District 2 were just as daunting. A man called the King, tall and bulky. He looks like he could take someone out with a single punch. The girl is some 15-year-old sharpshooter called Sofia.

By the fifth district, it is already shaping up to be one of the most fierce competitions. Viggo Tarasov, the son of Alexei Tarasov who is most well known for ripping out an opponent's throat with his teeth, has entered. Someone named Zero, who demonstrated for the crowd his martial arts ability. A young kid named Iosef who looked like a psychopath. A dark-haired player known as "The Adjudicator", for their ruthless control over everything. A brother-sister team from District 8 garnered a lot of attention too. 

But the longer the day goes on, the harder it is to concentrate on anything but the growing anxiety. 

"Helen, I'm scared." My sister, Daisy, whispers to me as they lead us outside to the podium.

"It'll be alright, Dais." I tell her. "Your name is only there once."

Together, we are four among thousands. But that does nothing to stop the pounding of my heart.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and hug her to me.

"It'll be okay," I repeat.

With a final squeeze, I let Daisy go with her classmates as I go with mine.

They call the boys first. Marcus Defoe, from my year, is chosen. My stomach turns. So close to home already. But in just a minute, it would be over.

"Daisy Kingston."

.

My heart drops and the words spill from my lips without any hesitation.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" My feet carry me forward even as the world around me comes crashing down. 

_ Not Daisy. Never Daisy. _

"I volunteer as tribute."

"A volunteer from District 12, how exciting!" The announcer says and the armed guards make way for me to go up to the stage.

I climb up the stairs and I am able to see Daisy, in the arms of her classmate, crying on the ground.

She's safe, I tell myself. 

"What is your name, my dear?"

"Helen. Helen Kingston."

"Kingston? Are you related to Miss Daisy?"

"I am."

"Sisters?"

I nod.

"How sweet! The bonds of sisterhood saving little Daisy from certain death. How do you feel about your chances?"

_ I'm going to die. _

"It doesn't matter," I say softly. "As long as Daisy is safe."

.

.

I don’t get to see her.

I’m quickly ushered off of the stage and put in a car. We drive and I stare out the window. This will be the last time I gaze upon my home. The thought makes me tremble but I keep from crying somehow.

We stop at the train station and are met by a delegation. A woman takes my measurements and I’m asked about my skills. "I don’t know" seems to be the only thing I can say. Over and over again until someone tells me to board the train.

It’s a whirl and I swallow as my feet leave the District 12 earth. My home is now my past.

I follow a man to my seat and am placed across from Marcus.

"Not how you pictured your day going, is it Helen?" Marcus says with a soft smile.

"Not quite." 

"It was… brave of you. To take Daisy's place."

I'm silent.

The moment her name was called, our fate was sealed. I will never see my sister again.

We pass through the mountains and my heart feels every mile between me and my sister.

A woman wheels in a cart with three place settings and leaves it between us.

I have no desire to eat.

A moment later, Winston walks in. Everyone knows Winston. The only champion District 12 has seen in the last 50 years. He's somewhat portly now, hair is greyed. He is clean-shaven and serious. 

Winston sits next to me and addresses Marcus. "You spend much time in the mines, boy?"

"Some."

"Can you swing an ax?"

"Yes, sir."

Winston nods, "Good. Good with any particular weapons?"

"No."

"Okay. I wasn't either. Weapons don't mean shit if you can't keep your cool. And most of them are just point and shoot anyway."

He hasn't looked at me. I can't help the sick feeling in my stomach that he knows, just as I do, that there really isn't a point in wasting time on me when Marcus is there.

I lean up against the glass and stare out the window, letting the exhaustion of the day take me over.


	2. The Continental Training Center

"We're here."

I open my eyes and blink in the light. It's still sunny out and I wipe my face.

"Thanks," I say to Marcus as I climb to my feet.

The Capitol was putting us up in the most premier hotel in all of Panem. Its luxury at its finest. I take a breath as I step off the train.

This is where I will spend my final days.

A bald girl is watching me, black freckles across her dark face. Cassie. She was supposedly good with knives. Another girl is behind her, watching from the shadows. She’s thin with short hair coifed back. Ares. 

Winston leads us into the Continental and I see Marcus change his posture, immediately putting on a show. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I would spend my final days doing a lot of things but posturing wasn’t one of them.

About half of the tributes are scattered throughout the lobby. I recognize Aurelio from District 6 and Charon from District 9 playing chess as they converse with Santino D’Antonio.

I spot his sister across the room. She sits perched elegantly on a chair, speaking with Viggo Tarasov, the psycho kid Ioseph, and John Wick- the bogeyman himself.

They all watch as we come in. If we’re not the last to arrive, we’re near it.

Their gazes seem to all rest on Marcus. They’re sizing him up. Marcus is well-built. Had he been born in one of the lower districts, I’m certain he would have been a true contender for this circuit. I wonder if Marcus really believes he has a chance? Between Wick, the King, and the D’Antonio siblings, he’d fall.

I shift as I feel myself come under scrutiny. I turn and catch John Wick’s eyes. He inclines his head to me as he looks me over. I suppose he didn’t get to be where he is today but underestimating anyone.

I look back to Winston, checking us in.

“I call dibs.” I hear the psycho one say.

“Dibs?” The voice is rough, unused. I know immediately who it belongs to.

“You know. Dibs. On the pretty volunteer from 12. I want to be the one to kill her.”

I don’t move, unwilling to let him know that I’ve heard him.

“That’s not how this works, kid,” Wick growls and I almost,  _ almost _ feel sorry for him. That voice has my every hair on end. 

“Ain’t no point in denying it, Wick. We’re here to kill. I bet she’s just as pretty on the inside.”

I’m suddenly very grateful I didn’t eat on the train. Now all I want to do is vomit. 

“I would watch yourself,” Wick tells him and I spare a glance back. Iosef is looking at Wick now, his eyes wide. “There’s no blood on Continental grounds.”

“I know the rules.”

“Good.”

Wick stands up and walks out of the lobby.

“Room’s 718, 719, and 720. The elevator is just around the corner.”

Winston hands me a key and ushers us with a wave of his head.

“Schmoozing has already started. If I were you, I would change and head back down. Get to know your enemy, keep an eye out for weaknesses.”

Five minutes down there. I wonder if they already knew mine. 

My room is huge. Bigger than my parents, Daisy’s and my rooms combined. There is a large bed with fluffy white blankets and huge pillows. There is a small kitchen with a fridge, stocked with fruit and cheese and wine. I leave it all in place, exploring further. There is a bathroom with a large tub and more dials than I know what to do with. I open a door and find a walk-in closet, filled with clothes. I check. They’re my size. 

I choose a black button-down tank top with a black and grey floral skirt. I carry it back to the bathroom and let my powder-blue dress fall off and to the floor. The tub fills with water and I play with the buttons, watching as jets of air make bubbles in the bath. I choose a fragrance that reminds me of home-- it’s earthy and sweet and the water turns a soft blue.

I step into the tub and relax in the warmth. If I’m going to die soon, I would very much like to spend the last of my days like this. I smile to myself and hold my breath, dunking my head under the water.

I hold it as long as I can before I feel the need to gasp for air, breaking the surface. 

I’m alone.

The thought hurts more than anything.

Days left on this earth and I don’t get to spend them with my family. Not my friends. 

Winston expects me to spend my last hours schmoozing with people trying to figure out exactly how to kill me. How can I?

I stay in the tub till the water turns cold and then watch as it drains around me. I find a towel and dry off. I’m not tired, nor am I up for socializing.

I think back to the fridge, stocked with more food than I see most holidays.

I dress in the new outfit and grab a bottle of wine from the fridge and the key to my room.

The hall is empty. I’m grateful as I make my way to the elevator. I ride it as high as it will go and then I disembark, looking for the stairs to lead me up. 

The roof is empty, towering high above the Capitol. I can see hundreds of glass buildings and homes, shining with the golden sunlight. I find a spot to rest my back upon and set wine to the side.

I have just a few days before were released into our own personal battle royale. There were things I still had to do. Training. Interviews. But if I spent my free time like this- eating well, bathing in splendor, and watching the sky, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

The sky fades to red then purple. Stars pop up over my head even as the sun still sets.

I uncork the wine and drink from the bottle. Civilized is over.

The door opens to the roof and John Wick steps out, and freezes.

We're both staring, neither expecting the other. 

He really is as handsome as he looked on tv. He has a dark beard that is neatly trimmed. It makes him look so much older than seventeen. His hair falls just short if his shoulder and is pushed back. He's wearing a crisp white shirt, rolled up to the elbow and a tie that had been loosened. It is tucked into black slacks with a black leather belt.

A moment passes and I hold up the bottle of wine in silent offering.

The corner of his mouth tips in a grin. 

He walks over and sits next to me, closer than he should. There is barely an inch between us. He takes the bottle and John Wick downs a quarter of my wine in one go. He takes a breath as he examines the label.

Finally, he looks at me and holds out a hand. "John Wick."

I laugh and take his hand. "Yeah, I know."

"Of course. And you're Helen Kingston." He takes another swig, "you know, they're calling you the sacrificial lamb."

He offers it back and I take the bottle and sip. "Really?"

"Yep. Your handler was looking for you, by the way. There's a dinner downstairs for all of us."

"Why aren't you there?"

"Honestly?" I nod and he looks over at me, "because five more minutes in that room and I would have said fuck the rules of the Continental, and just punched Iosef Abrams in the face."

I burst out laughing. "Who could blame you?"

He smiles, "what about you, Helen Kingston? What are you doing hiding up on the roof?"

"Not exactly hiding." I look out at the city, "figure I only have a few days left on this earth. I'd rather spend it taking time for myself, seeing the actual beautiful parts of the world, rather than playing politics with people trying to figure out how to kill me."

He holds his hand out for the bottle and I pass it over. "So certain you won't survive?"

"Twenty-four go in, one comes out. I have no training and I have not prepared for this. I'm pretty certain I won't be alive this time next week."

He doesn't have a response but he hands me the bottle back. I drink.

I'm not normally talkative with strangers. Maybe it's the wine. Maybe it's not having had the time to process with my family. Or maybe it's just John Wick. But I find the words pouring from my mouth.

"Are you scared? Or is that a stupid question?"

Wick shrugs, "not a stupid question. Not sure I have an answer, though. I live or I die. You tell me which is worse."

He drinks again and I hold out my hand for the bottle. He smirks and hands it back. "Should have brought a second bottle."

I salute with the wine before finishing what is left. "I don't usually drink like this."

"Feeling tipsy?"

"Not really? I feel… surreal. I feel hyper connected to reality."

"Radical acceptance of impending doom." John drawls.

It's getting colder as the sun goes down, though it's not nearly as cold as it would be back home. I pull my knees up to my chest.

"Cold?" He closes the space between us and wraps an arm around me, angling ourselves so that I'm leaning into his chest, with one of his arms draped around me comfortingly.

I let out a breath.

John Wick. The Baba Yaga himself has an arm wrapped around me in comfort. 

My family is so far away.

I wonder if this is the last kind touch I will receive. Resting against the man who will likely kill me. I hold back a laugh at the macabre thought. 

Instead, I close my eyes, allowing myself to imagine we were elsewhere. On a rooftop of some school. Or maybe a city hall. Maybe I was visiting District 1 for work and we happened to be at the same hotel, both just looking to get away. It was easier to imagine than the reality.

John Wick was already the favorite of the bettors. Ones who probably didn't even know my name. Even my mother had said, idly while watching the news, 'that Wick boy is going to win. Doesn't matter who the other tributes are.'

But he was warm and I took comfort in the feel of his breath on my neck.

The door opens again and my eyes snap open. “Oh, for god sake, John.”

I start to move but the arm around me tightens, pulling me back against his chest. “Can I help you, Director?”

“You needed to be at the dinner forty minutes ago. As did Miss Kingston. Winston has been looking everywhere for you.”

Somehow, I doubt that.

“It isn’t a required event.”

“It also isn’t an event that you simply don’t go to. What are you doing up here?”

John smirks, “Stargazing?”

“Get downstairs, Jonathan. And you, Miss Kingston. These events are taken seriously.”

I snort, “Yeah. By the people going to be alive in a few days.” I normally wouldn’t be so crass but I ran out of fucks to give on the train.

John grins down at me before looking back at his handler, “Besides, I thought there weren’t any cameras.”

“There aren’t. This is for you to get to know the people you will be pitted up against. The ones who might pose a threat.”

“That leaves me out.” I pat his leg twice, “Have fun schmoozing.”

“Shoot me.”

“Not on Continental grounds. It’s in the rule book.” I gently unwrap his arms from my shoulder and rise to my feet. I offer him a hand which he takes, eyes narrowing but smile just the same. “Been a pleasure, Mr. Wick.”

I nod to his handler and depart.

If the Capitol is paying, I’m getting room service and passing out in that big, soft bed.

.

“Where were you last night?” Marcus asks when I arrive at breakfast. He’s sitting with a few tributes I vaguely recognize. Addy, the youngest of all the tributes, from District 9 sits with her fellow tribute, Charon. Charon is older, seventeen, I think. And Charlie, from District 10.

“Explored a bit. Then went to bed early.”

“Must have been nice. Our handler made us play nice until almost two in the morning.” Addy yawns, “And now they want us to train.”

“It is better to go in prepared,” Charon tells her. 

Better for who, I wonder. 

“Did I miss anything interesting?” I ask Marcus, who shakes his head. 

“Not really. The D’Antonio siblings don’t appear as close as I initially thought. Santino seemed to get close to Ares last night and Gianna spent most of the evening with Cassie and Ernest. Looks like Viggo Tarasov has aligned himself with the Iosef kid from 5. And everyone was trying to get John Wick’s attention when he finally showed up. But he didn’t stay long.”

“He didn’t?”

“No. Talked to him for a hot minute. He asked about you.”

“What’d he ask?”

“Just wanted to know your deal, I guess. You not being there raised a lot of questions.”

I’m sure it did, but I wasn’t about to let them know that John Wick was with me for most of his absence.

I look around the breakfast room. He isn’t here but Iosef Abrams is, watching me as he cuts a slice from his apple. He smiles and I’m suddenly not very hungry anymore.

I shift my focus to the conversation. Addy is telling Charlie and Marcus about life in District 9. I pretend to listen, keeping a watch on what is going on around me. 

When they finish, we make our way to the training center in the basement.

A few of the competitors are already there. An unnaturally tall boy named Ernest is lifting weights while Ares spars with Santino D’Antonio in one of the several rings, as are Zero and Yaya from District 4. Perkins and Gianna are both on tred mills. 

And then there is John. His hair is pulled back in a small ponytail and his shirt has been lost. He does pushups in a quiet corner. He has a back tattoo that ripples slightly as his muscles move. John Wick really is an attractive man.

These are the candidates who have trained. The ones who have prepared for this.

“Fuck.” Says Marcus.

Fuck indeed. I wonder if he’s just now starting to get how in over our heads we are.

This is just them warming up.

Addy looks just as overwhelmed as I feel. "Hey." I nudge her gently, "want to stretch with me?"

She nods frantically and I lead her over to the gymnastics mats. We keep things basic. There is no point in showing off and posturing and ending up unable to actually train. Addy is very flexible. That will help her hide, I think.

The weight of the situation hits me again. Will Addy even have a shot against people like the King? The D'Antonio's? John?

I push the thought away. It's too much for the moment.

I let Addy lead us through some stretches, suggesting a few when she runs out. It's almost nice.

After fifteen minutes, though. I become more than aware at just how out of shape I am.

I make my way to the water bubbler and take a cup. The water is icy and feels amazing as it goes down my throat. 

John is walking over. I down the rest of the water and fill it up again, purposely ignoring his arrival. Until I feel his fingers brush the small of my back.

"Helen."

His hand rests at my spine. I swallow rather than shudder at the contact.

"John."

He fills up a cup and stands next to me, surveying the room.

"What do you think?" He asks me.

I'm unsure what he's looking for in an answer. A summary, an analysis. Perhaps he is just gauging if what I said to him last night was panicked pessimism or if I had decided to fully join the festivities.

“I think this is utterly ridiculous.” I look around at the cameras set up across the gym all at varying angles. “Do you think they’re rolling yet?”

“No. They’re letting us warm up in peace.”

I watch as Ares pins Santino to the ground, her forearm braced against his neck.

“This is warming up?”

“You said it yourself.” He looks at me. “Twenty-four go in.”

“One comes out.” If I had any doubts about volunteering, they have left me. Thank god that Daisy isn’t here. “Warming up to kill.”

Suddenly, I have to acknowledge that the stretches aren’t going to do shit for me and Addy. But to be fair, I’m not sure if there is anything that can save us now.

I run my hand through my hair. Fuck.

“Do you have a spare hair tie?” I ask.

John reaches back and slips the one he’s using out of his hair and steps behind me.

I shake my head, “A spare hair tie, John.”

“Your hair is longer. Mine won’t be more than a bother. Yours will get you killed.”

I roll my eyes and reach for the hair tie. He ignores my hand and sweeps my hair up easily. “I doubt it will be my hair that gets me killed. But thanks.”

He ignores the remark as I feel my hair pulled taut. It doesn't hurt as it is spun around. “Bun. Low on your head, tight to the scalp. Harder to grab."

"Thanks." I say softly, ignoring both how good his hands feel in my hair and the obvious stares we are now attracting. 

Marcus is frowning at me from where he runs while Iosef looks on with a fierce scowl.

"Everyone is watching." I tell him.

"I know."

"What are you doing, John?" I ask softly. He doesn't reply as the bun is fastened and his hands slip to my shoulders and down my arms.

“Wick,” Perkins says, approaching the water bubbler. “Up for a spar?”

“Maybe later.” he says and I am aware of how very close to me he is, his hands resting on my own.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Perkins offers me a smile that I simply don’t trust. She holds out a hand. “I’m Lise Perkins.”

“Helen Kingston.” I raise my hand from John's and he drops it to my waist.

What is he doing?

This is beyond a brief snuggle for warmth.

This is… 

God, I wish I knew what he was thinking.

I meet her outstretched hand and force my face not to react when she squeezes hard enough to crush my bones together.

She hums, “What’s your weapon of choice, Kingston?”

“I’ve been told I have a sharp wit.”

John snorts and Perkins frowns. “Well, I suppose we’ll see soon enough. Let me know if you change your mind, Wick.”

“Perkins.”

She strolls away. Once she’s out of earshot, he lowers his head so he can quietly say, “She’s trained in various martial arts. Double jointed. But she can’t shoot distance worth a damn and she gets erratic when she’s pissed. Get her mad, get her distracted. Wait for your opening.”

His breath is warm and I know I would just need to lean back a little to be back in his arms. I’m tempted. I wonder, briefly, if he’s messing with me. Gauging me for my own weakness. But that’s ridiculous. This is a man who could snap my neck in an instant or shoot me from a hill hundreds of feet away.

“Why are you telling me this?” I breathe.

“You’re very certain you aren’t going to survive this.”

“That’s basic logic.”

“I know. This competition is rigged.”

I glance back at him, his face is blank. His eyes are scanning the room. Iosef Abrams is still watching us from the weight machines, as is Santino. Where Iosef looks pissed, Santino looks… interested.

“I’m from a career district where they train candidates from a young age. 2, 4, and 8? We spend our lives training for this. Made and bred to be the best. A few other districts sometimes are strong, even if they're not trained like we are. But 9, 11, 12? You’re just thrown in there as fodder for the rest of us. Nothing about this is fair. If I so choose, I can eliminate all the competition on my own.”

There’s something about the certainty he says that makes me swallow. He really could kill us all.

“Logic and reason tell us both that you won’t survive this. That you don’t have a chance. But you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who gives up that easily, Helen Kingston.”

He breathes my name and I close my eyes, biting my lip hard. 

“It’s not about giving up.” I say, “But I know the odds. They aren’t in my favor.”

“Don’t be so certain. Everyone in this room underestimates you. That’s good.”

“Kingston!” Winston is here. John takes a step back, the spots where his hands used to be are tingling. He smirks and refills his water as my handler approaches. “Where were you last night?”

I shrug a shoulder, “Around.”

“You weren’t at the dinner.”

“It wasn’t mandatory.”

“It was your first opportunity to get to know your opponents.”

I tilt my head to the side, “You’ve already made your thoughts on my success clear, Winston. I don’t care about making you look good for the other handlers.”

“And what have I said to your success?”

“Nothing. You view Marcus as the only possible option for District 12. This is the first time you’ve spoken to me directly.” 

“You are still my tribute.”

I smile softly, “I’m no one’s tribute.” I glance back to John. “Mr. Wick. Thank you for the advice.”

And I make my way back to Addy. She’s doing sit-ups, Charon holding down her feet. After twenty, she is struggling. 

John was right, I think, looking around as Perkins begins another mile and Zero throws his opponent to the ground. It really is rigged.

.

I’m teamed up with a young trainer. A want-to-be tribute from District 2 who had aged out of the lottery. He asks me what I want to learn and I tell him defense. Throwing knives and shooting guns won’t get me shit if I’m taken out by hand before we even reach the Cornucopia.

We each have our own section, split so that we can all still see each other. About three-quarters of the tributes are still in the room. A few have left for the shooting gallery down the hall. I'm in a ring at the far end of the gym. Marcus is across from me, examining an array of knives.

I glance around and find John across the room, taping his hands with something. He nods at me and I offer a small smile.

“I’m going to attack you. Show me what you know.” Says Viktor and I stand, awkwardly. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tell him that I haven’t been trained, he doesn’t fucking get it.

He progresses forward, striking quickly. I avoid the first two punches by ducking. The third one hits me in the stomach, winding me. I keep to my feet and he backs off, letting me catch my breath.

“Block.” He tells me.

“How?” I ask.

“Your hands. Push mine out of the way. Stop the attacks, as if your life was on the line.”

As if? My life was on the line.

He comes at me again and I keep my forearms in front of me, protecting my chest and stomach, trying to smack his hands out of the air as they come towards me. It hurts like a bitch but it takes longer for him to actually hit me.

“What the hell are you teaching her?” I look up and find John Wick climbing through the wires and into the ring.

“Self-defense.” Viktor answers, “Mr. Wick, I--”

“Self-defense?” John repeats. “She’s half your size. All you’re going to do with that is bruise her before the games begin.”

“I’ve been trained to teach--”

“And I’ve been trained to kill.” Wick cuts him off. “The King comes at her, you think she’s going to block him? Zero? You’re supposed to be teaching her to stay alive.”

“It’s not my fault I’ve been asked to train the fodder.”

John stills and I suddenly feel bad for Viktor. “Get out.” John says.

“But…”

“Get. Out.” He says it slower this time and Viktor listens, scrambling from the box, leaving me alone in the ring with John.

I’m not sure what to say. John still looks pissed even as Viktor leaves the gym entirely.

“So,” I say, “How’s your day going?”

John snorts and pushes his hair back. “Fucking rigged.” He says and looks at me. “You study physics?”

“Not in depth.” I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.

“But basics? Newton’s laws. An object in motion…”

“Stays in motion, unless acted upon by another force.”

“Good.” He says. He straightens and looks at me. “You’re smaller than the majority of the people here. Weaker, physically. Not your fault--” He relents, “But true.” I nod in agreement. “You’re not going to be able to punch people out with a few days of training here. But hopefully, you won’t need to. You familiar with Jiu-Jitsu?”

I shake my head. 

“I’m going to teach you to use your opponent's weight against them. You're going to throw me."

I stare at him incredulously and motion to his body. "I'm sorry, have you seen you?"

"I own a mirror." He grins, "relax. We're not going to start with throwing. First I'm going to teach you how to stand."

"My mom might have beaten you to that."

"Smartass. Come 'ere."

I step forward so that I'm standing in front of him.

"Is this how you would stand if we were going to fight?"

"No, I'd probably be running."

"And I'd catch you." Something about the way he says it has my heartbeat racing. "You've no place left to run. Back against the wall, cornered. You're one chance at survival is to get away from me. How do you stand?"

I step back, slightly. I keep one foot back, my knees bent a bit, and my body at an angle.

"Why the angle?" I start to move back to face him frontal but he holds up a hand, "no, you were right. You don't want to face me head on. It leaves your entire body as a target. This makes it harder for me to grab you."

He steps towards me and I instinctively move back. He nods approvingly, "good. Stand still." I stand in place and John walks behind me. "Stand with your feet aligned with your shoulders." I feel his hands at my hips and he moves me slightly so my weight is toward my back leg. "Good." He says again. His left hand slowly trails down my thigh. He taps it twice. "Move this left forward just a bit. There." His right hand is still on my hip. "Now lean back just a bit. Shoulders up, chin tucked."

His hands slip from my body and I feel disappointed briefly.

"Braulio!" He calls and his trainer, who I now noticed watching from the sidelines entered the ring with us. John assumes a similar position to what I had just been in. He looks over to me, "eyes on me. Watch how I fall." He turns back to his trainer. "Knock me over."

He's taken aback for a second then lunges forward, shoving John back. John tucks his chin, pulling in his legs and twisting in the air so that easily rolls onto the ground, not even winded.

Yikes.

"The point is," he pushes his hands into the ground and flips to his feet, "to take the least amount of damage." I bite my lip as he squares up again. "Gonna do it slower this time. Tuck in your limbs and your head, not too tight so you don't restrict movement but enough that you're able to use the momentum to roll rather than slam."

He nods and Braulio pushes his shoulders with less force than before. I notice now the way his arms roll in and he crosses his forearms together.

John's up again in no time.

“Your turn.” He tells me and I tense. “Easy. You’re not going to fall.” John reaches around me and puts his hands on either side of my shoulders. “This is just practice. Lean back.”

I let out a stuttering breath and do as he tells me. I lean back as if I were falling but he doesn’t let go, instead leaning with me. 

“Tuck your chin- there you go. Shoulders in… Let your legs fall.” I try to do as he tells me but only one leg does, the other standing in place still afraid that he’ll drop me. Such a silly thing to be afraid of, standing in a room with the person who will kill me. “I’m not going to drop you, Helen.”

His eyes are so kind. It’s disconcerting. I’ve heard about the people he has killed in the District 1 trials. John is trained, efficient, focused. But he also isn’t going to let me fall.

I manage to let my balance be taken completely into his hands and he lowers me to the floor in such a way that my body takes the roll.

“Good.” He tells me, pulling me back to my feet with ease. “Again.”

We repeat the exercise again. By the fourth time, I notice the cameras. A half dozen camera men are scattered throughout the room, half of them trained on myself and John.

“Ignore them.” Of course, he’s already noticed. “They’re not here. Just you and me.”

I nod and find it easier to let myself lose balance. My body adjusts, curling each time I fall back. John nods approvingly.

“Ready to try it for real?” He asks me.

I don’t feel as if I am but we have so little time left. And he has wasted so much of it on me rather than training, practicing, preparing.

“Yeah,” I nod, wriggling my shoulders to loosen them. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Not too much.” John tells me, “Just enough to knock you down.”

His arms shoot out and my chin comes down. He is not holding me but my body remembers like he is. I hit the ground in a roll, rocking for a moment in silent awe. It… felt strange. Not terribly hurt but enough that my body felt the hit. 

John grins and holds out a hand to me, which I take and let him pull me to my feet. “Perfect. Again?”

Practice makes perfect. Even if it buys me a few seconds, even if it just proves to my sister that I didn’t go quietly, it would make a difference.

“Again,” I say and I am sent backward again. More force this time but still not enough to actually hurt me. 

I hit the ground, a little easier this time, despite the extra force. I roll easily and smile up at John. 

He reaches down for me. “Amazing. We’re going to do it a little different this time.” John pulls me to my feet but doesn’t let go of my hands. “This time,” He says, “I’m going to push you but you’re going to take me down with you. He moves his arms up to my shoulders, “So when I go to push you, wrap your hands around my wrists. You’re going to lift because the momentum from me pushing you is going to be enough for you to just angle my body in the right direction. You’re going to go down harder and you will feel it, but the trick is to hold onto me the whole time. Ready?”

I nod along. His hands reach out to push me and I catch him quickly. I fall back but I don’t let go. I feel John push off the ground and suddenly he is above me as I fall before we both hit the ground. He was right. That time hurt but John is on my other side, taken down just as hard.

He lifts his head up and grins at me. “Good. You’re a fast learner.”

I look over my shoulder at him. It’s crazy. Completely irrational. I don’t know why he’s doing this. Why he’s spending his time here, with me. But I know that I’d rather be here with him than anyone else in the room. 

“Thank you, John.”

He smiles at me and squeezes my hands. We both get back up and John jumps a bit on his feet. “Need a breather?”

I shake my head and stretch out my arms. “I’m good to go.”

John nods once. “Braulio, can we get a training dummy in here?”

His trainer nods and hops down from the ring to the back storage area. He passes by Marcus, his trainer, and Winston. Winston is watching John and I with a narrowed gaze but he doesn’t say anything. He offers a brief nod and turns his attention back to Marcus.

“Stand like before,” John tells me, pulling me back into the moment. “Defensive posture.”

I sink back into it. He does the same and puts his arms up, left defensive and right prepping for an attack. I copy his stance and he nods for me to keep it. He walks around me, tapping me where I need to move. 

“Why keep the non-dominant hand out front?” He asks.

“To block?”

John nods, walking behind me and to my other side. I don’t move. “Good girl. Defense is always more important than offense. You can always attack later. You can’t do shit if you’re dead.” He stops in front of me and moves a hand quickly as if he were to strike me. My left forearm crosses in front of me without a thought, regardless of the fact that John stopped half a foot from me. “Good. Use your left hand to keep your opponent off guard but remember that your right is where the power is.”

He holds both arms out in front of him, hands clenched in fists. “Thumb on the outside.  _ Always _ .” He stresses, “Gonna stretch out your arm, keep your wrist straight, and make sure your knuckles are aligned with the bones in your hand.” He demonstrates slowly stretching out as if it were a punch. “Middle and index knuckles first.”

I copy his motions, tossing out a few fake jabs. 

Braulio comes back carrying half of a rubber man on a stick. John helps him lift it into the ring and sets it standing in one corner.

I walk over and John directs me to the defensive position. He stands behind me, aligning my body as it should be with my target. “Show me.” He says softly.

I fight a shiver that threatens down my spine and strike forward hard, hitting the dummy just as John had instructed.

“Again.”

I do it again, once on each hand.

“Twice right, once left. Cross over.”

I do. 

“Good. Again.”

It feels good to hit the dummy. I do so again without instruction.

“Less tense in the legs.” John tells me, “Bounce on the balls of your feet. If he was real, he’d be moving. You’d need to too.”

I roll onto the balls of my feet and jab again, bouncing just as he told me.

“Again.”

My fists rock the dummy.

“Again!”

I have rarely felt so powerful. So much anger and uncertainty has built up inside me but it all seems to disappear as my fists slam against it. 

“Good.” John says and I ease, stepping back, a little more winded than I was expecting. “Braulio, water.” He sets a hand on my shoulder and leans his head to the side to get a better look at me. “Feeling okay?”

I nod, a little shakily. “Fuck.” I breathe.

“I know.” He tells me.

“How long have you guys been training?”

John grimaces and I can tell he doesn’t want to say anything. “They narrow down potential tributes when we’re six. By ten, they have the final pick. The strongest.”

He’s spent more than ten years training for this. So had Perkins, and Zero, and the Santino’s and the fucking Bowery King. The odds really were stacked against me. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and I feel my body shake. 

John reaches to the side. I don’t see Braulio but I know he must be there and John hands me a bottle of water. “Drink.”

I take the bottle and take a long swig.

“Easy. Don’t upset your stomach.”

An upset stomach was the least of my worries.

I’m so fucked.


	3. The Range

We break at noon. There’s fruits and nuts and cheese in the cafeteria they’ve set up for us. The cameras shut off and we get two hours reprieve. A few of the tributes, Zero, Yaya and Sofia all retire to their rooms to rest.

Winston motions me over once we hit the cafeteria and I nod to John.

“See you in a bit.” He tells me.

Winston has a plate of food ready for me and he motions to the seat next to Marcus for me to sit in. “You’ve had a productive morning.” He tells me.

I shrug, “Learned more than I was expecting.” 

Too bad it would only help me for a couple of days.

“Indeed. John Wick has certainly taken an interest in you.”

Again, I shrug, picking up a piece of cantaloupe and biting into it. A rare delicacy in District 12, it was served by the platter here. 

“Do you know why?” Marcus asks me.

“No.” And that’s the truth. 

I don’t know why John stayed up on the roof drinking wine with me for as long as he did. I don’t know why he sought me out this morning or why he was so angry with the way my trainer had been teaching me. I knew he didn’t like the way the odds were stacked against me and the other districts, but he wasn’t giving the same attention to Addy or Harriet from District 11. Both girls were younger than me. More vulnerable in all likelihood. 

“Are you sure?” Winston asked.

“Yes.” I look from him to Marcus, “He’s just helping me out.”

“Has he mentioned an alliance?”

“No. John Wick doesn’t do alliances, remember?”

We’d all seen the interviews that plagued the news from the career districts during the previous weeks. John Wick wasn’t here for politics. He was here to win.

“Besides, I’m one of the last people he should align with.”

“You’re an unexpected choice.” Says Marcus popping a handful of nuts into his mouth.

I shake my head, “Even with what he’s teaching me, I’m not a violent person. I would only slow him down.”

“Then why is he training you?”

“I don’t know.” I tell them honestly, “He was pissed that Viktor wasn’t doing a great job teaching me so he took over. Everything he’s taught me seems legit.”

“It is.” Winston says, “He’s training you well. You’ve picked it up fast.”

“He’s a good teacher.”

Marcus cocks his head to the side. “Do you trust him?”

It’s a difficult question. Do I trust what he’s teaching me? Yes. Do I trust that he genuinely wants me to do well? Yes. Do I trust he won’t kill me?

That one is a bit harder.

I bite my lip in thought. 

I’ve felt his wine-soaked breath on my neck as we watched the stars come out over the Capitol. He’s taken the tie from his hair to put in mine. I’ve felt his arms hold me back from falling to the ground repeatedly as he teaches me to fall.

“I think that… in a different life, we could have been friends. He’s snarky, and kind of an asshole, but he’s funny.” I shrug a shoulder, “I think he’s just a good guy trying to help me out before I’m completely in over my head.”

Marcus snorts, “John Wick? Good guy? Seriously? Didn’t he stab someone with a pencil during the final trials?”

“Three people.” Winston corrects, not looking away from me. “With a fucking pencil.”

I shrug again, “I’m on his good side. At least until the games start.”

“Do you want me to find you another trainer? Besides Viktor?”

“I don’t know. He’ll probably need to get on his own training sooner or later but I don’t mind learning from him. As I said, he’s a good teacher.”

I finish eating quickly, not wanting to be subjected to their questions about John anymore. “I’m going to nap,” I tell them.

“Wake up call?” Marcus asks.

“Please.”

"Helen, just be careful." Marcus tells me, "If you don't know his motives, be wary. I'm not sure you should trust him."

I take care of my plate, looking around the mostly empty cafe. Perkins and Iosef are staring at me from their table. I hold my head high as I exit, ignoring their gazes.

Despite my wish not to become involved in their hunger games politics, I somehow find myself in the middle.

.

Marcus walks with me back down to the training area. I wish I had more time to rest but I savored what I was given. 

“How are you holding up?” He asks me.

I’m not quite sure how to answer. I want to just say as good as one can be contemplating their own mortality but I know that will only make him uncomfortable. Marcus still thinks he has a shot. He’s realistic enough to know that it is a small chance but still hopeful enough to think maybe, just maybe, he could be the longshot no one saw coming.

“Daisy is safe,” I say and give him a small smile. “That’s all that matters.”

“Are you scared?” He asks me.

“It comes and goes. Some moments I feel very at peace with the fact I won’t be alive this time next week. Other times, I just want to scream that this isn’t right. Honor and glory for our districts but at what cost?”

Marcus shrugs, “We feed the ones we love. We are set up for life.”

“Yes. A house in Victor’s Village and a few parcels of food. All can be yours for the low price of twenty-three lives.”

Marcus doesn’t have anything to say to that. I’m glad. I wonder if he realizes how fucked this is and he’s just ignoring it or if he’s been brainwashed as much as the rest of them to think it’s worth the cost.

We enter the gym again and I feel a hand on my lower back. I look up and John is next to me. He must have been waiting just past the door.

“You ever shoot before?” He asks, veering off to the side rather than continuing back to where we had sparred earlier.

I shake my head.

“Gonna give your body a rest,” he tells me, “Focus on the weapons that will be available for us.”

I nod goodbye to Marcus and we leave the gym and go further down the hall. It’s quiet and I can’t help but notice he hasn’t moved his hand. It feels good there. Natural.

He opens a door for me and we go into a beautiful room, outlined in mahogany and red velvet. A man in a suit stands behind a case. “Mr. Wick. Back so soon?”

“Not for myself. Helen, this is the Sommelier.”

“Enchanted.” The man says, “What are you looking for, my dear?”

My mouth opens but I have no response. I don’t know what I’m looking for.

“Something small.” Says John, “Light.”

“Well,” he walks over to a paneled wall and hits a button. The wall slides back and an array of handguns are put on display in a faint blue light, “I know Mr. Wick has a fondness for German weapons, but may I recommend the Austrian variety?” He picks one, weighs it in his hand, and then another smaller one. He brings them over and sets them on the glass in front of us. “Glock .34 and .26. Recontoured grips. Flared magwell for easy reloads. Lovely custom porting.”

John picks up the larger one and examines it. He raises it, staring down the barrel with fixed concentration. Then he slides out the magazine and pops it back in quickly. He spins it in his hand and gives it to me, handle first.

“How does it feel?” He asks.

“Heavier than I expected.” I answer honestly, “But not bad?”

John nods. He takes it back and hands me the smaller one. “This one would be easier to hide on you.”

I take it. It’s lighter, smaller. But it doesn’t feel as natural in my hand.

“I think I prefer the larger one.”

“We’ll take both.” he looks at me, “I want you to try shooting before you make a decision."

I nod.

John looks back to the Sommelier. “There will be a variety at the Cornucopia, I imagine. Automatic assault. Something… robust. Precise.”

The Sommelier tips his head to the side in thought. “Robust. Precise.” He repeats. “Ah,” He goes over to another wall and it lifts, revealing a collection of assault rifles. He selects one with ease and brings it back. “AR-15. 11.5 inch. Compensated with an ion-bonded bolt carrier. Trijicon accupoint with 1-6 magnification.”

The door opens to the tasting room and Viggo Tarasov enters. He raises an eyebrow at John but John doesn’t seem to care. He’s more focused on the new weapon than the new arrival.

John hums and takes the gun. He checks the scope and nods. “Excellent. One more, I think. To give a little variety.” He looks at me, “You won’t always have the option to use something compact and light. And back to the Sommelier, “Could you recommend something big, bold?”

The Sommelier nods and disappears into a back room. I try to do as John does and ignore Viggo’s presence but I don’t like having someone out for my blood standing so casually, so close. I’m largely aware of the irony as John stands at my side. The Sommelier returns moments later with a larger gun. “May I suggest the Benelli M4? Custom bolt carrier release and charging handle. Textured grips, should your hands get… wet. An Italian classic.”

John nods his approval. “Perfect. May I have them sent to the shooting range?”

“Of course, Mr. Wick. Right away.”

John sets his hand at the small of my back again. “Let’s go.” He makes sure that I am on the opposite side of Tarasov as he escorts me from the room.

“Baba Yaga,” Tarasov says as we reach the door. John slows but doesn’t stop. Tarasov says something in a language I do not recognize that causes John to tense.

He replies and I know, immediately, that if there wasn’t conflict between Viggo Tarasov and John Wick before, there is now. 

John guides me in front of him and we leave the room.

“What was that about?” I ask after the door swings shut behind us.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Great.

John runs a hand through his hair and we walk down to the range. 

I’ve seen them before, in previous years when the games aired. But I’d never seen one in person. John opened one of the doors to the shooting chamber. It's sterile and concrete with a table for weapons. 

"Guns'll be just a minute." He tells me.

I nod and sit on the table.

John is silent, standing still and clearly deep in thought.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask softly.

John shakes his head, "just… be wary of Tarasov. He's a game player. He and the D'Antonio's are planning alliances. Faking allegiances. But Tarasov… watch out for him and Iosef."

"Iosef is something."

"Iosef is insane," John says, looking at me seriously. "He gets some perverted pleasure out of all this. Even here, if you see him, go the other way. Don't be alone with him."

"He can't touch me here. No blood on Continental grounds."

"If anyone was to break that rule, it would be him. Don't trust him."

I didn't. It was hard to trust anyone here. "I've been warned the same thing about you."

"Not to trust me?"

I nod. 

John gives me a half-smile and steps closer to me. "Sound advice. Marcus?" Another step, "Perkins?"

"Winston."

"The handler." He steps closer, watching me with the same intense focus that he examined the guns, "and what do you think?"

"Right now?" I look him up and down. John is everything people had described him to be. Driven, resourceful, focused. Deadly. I still wasn't certain of his motives but I knew what he was trying to do. "Right now, I think you're trying to remind me that you have the power. I think you're trying to remind yourself that you have the power and you could kill me a dozen ways in this empty room if you wanted to. Because I don't think you want to hurt me."

"Oh, is that all?" His palms hit the table on either side of me. His expression hasn't changed as he bends down to my level. "And why is it that I don't want to hurt you?"

His face was close to mine. Just a few inches away. I could so easily bridge the distance. 

"I think that's a question for you to answer, John."

My breath stutters as he starts to lean in and then a knock at the door has him upright in an instant.

"Come in." He barks and I swallow, my blood rushing beneath my skin.

A man comes in with a small cart containing the guns we had ordered. I slip off of the table as he sets them down. John immediately opens the case to the larger Glock and inserts the magazine.

He raises it quickly and fires three shots into the target hanging twenty-odd feet away. All three bullets hit the head.

The shots echo loudly and I wince at the series of bangs.

He looks at me and beckons with his head for me to approach. “Dominant hand holds the gun. Non-dominant hand to brace.” He shows me the way he is holding it before handing it to me. I do as he says. “Good. It may feel weird and it likely won’t be how the other tributes will hold the gun but this will give you the most control over the recoil. Keep your arms extended but not locked.”

John steps behind me, raising my arms to square with my shoulders. “Good.” He tells me again, “This notched bump is the sight. Look down it with your dominant eye. Aim for the chest.”

I do and John adjusts my position ever so slightly, his hands on my hips. “Press the trigger.”

I stare down the sight I squeeze. The gun goes off with a loud bang and even though I’m anticipating the recoil, it strikes me harder than I would have thought.

“Well done.”

I glance up and it has, indeed, hit the target. It doesn’t land on the figure but it has hit the sheet a few inches away.

“I missed.”

“You were close. Not every shot has to be perfect.”

“It does if I don’t have endless bullets.”

John huffs a small laugh, “You missed by a couple of inches on your first shot. God forbid.”

I think back to previous years. Guns were often easy to find but ammo was much more difficult. Matching ammo was a near-impossible task. 

“Again,” John tells me and again I go. And again, and again, and again. Firing both Glocks until my arms ache. John teaches me to set up each gun, to reload as quickly as possible. I release and insert the magazine repeatedly until he is satisfied with my speed. 

The rifles are easier, even if the recoil is much more than either of the others. I feel immediately more confident in my ability to aim. He brings a fresh sheet with a dark human outline up and shows me where the vital organs are. He runs a finger along it, ensuring I know where the major arteries are, too.

I wonder, idly, if he’s wasting his time.

I know that I won’t go quietly, but I was more than likely to die in the first twenty-four hours of the game. 

I don’t say it though. It hurts to think and I’m not sure I have the strength to say it aloud. 

We go until his handler finds us. “It’s time for dinner. You need to actually attend tonight.”

“I think she’s talking to you,” I say to John as he doesn’t look away from showing me how to disarm and lock the gun into its case.

“I hear her.”

“Jonathan!”

“You want me to attend dinner. Is it mandatory?”

“You need to be there.”

John looks up at me, closing the case for the Glock .34. “It’s not mandatory.”

“Nothing is mandatory if you don’t care about the consequences.”

He smirks, “Dinner on the roof?”

His handler looks pissed and I try not to smile. “Honestly, John! You need to focus on the Games. You have five days left.”

“I’m focused.” John answers, “Just don’t give a fuck about the politics.”

“It looks bad if you don’t attend.”

“It’ll look worse if I skin Iosef or Viggo alive before the Games.” He doesn’t look away from me, “You bring the wine, I’ll get the food?”

“Sure,” I say. “An hour? I wanna take a bath.”

“Sounds good.” He tells me, catching my hand as I start to take the case. “Just leave the guns here. They have staff who will take care of it. and bring two bottles tonight."

I nod. “See you in a bit.”

I slip out of the room quickly, leaving John alone with his handler.

“Honestly, Jonathan, you need to get your head in the game.” His handler says.

“My head is in the game.” 

“Why weren’t you training?”

“What could they possibly train me in?”

“You could practice. Prepare yourself. Put the fear of god into your opponents. Show the sponsors that you’re a tribute worth assisting. Instead, you spent all day playing teacher to a girl who will be dead this time next week.”

It was the truth and I knew it but it still wasn't pleasant to hear.

And god, his handler was right. What was he showing everyone else by helping me? I stop and lean against the wall, still in earshot. What must the others think? What must the people from his district watching think, seeing their champion ignore his own training to attend to some nobody from District 12?

“You don’t know shit.”

“And you have clearly forgotten how this works. Do you plan on surviving? She has to die. Rules of the Games and they’re not going to change because you got a hard-on for the sacrificial lamb.”

I swallow, feeling my hands shake. Fuck.

What were we doing? What game were we playing at? He would have kissed me earlier, I was certain, had we not been interrupted. My body still burned from where his hands had been but it was pointless.

We weren’t going to have a happy-ever-after. 

This time next week, one or both of us would be dead.

“You know better than this, John. Just fuck her, get her out of your system, and get your head back to where it needs to be.”

“Careful, Director. No blood on Continental grounds only applies to the other tributes. I can still beat the shit out of you.”

“I’m on your side, John. If she wants to live, she needs you dead. You can’t both make it out of this, and I’m sorry, but she isn’t going to make it.” His handler is quiet for a moment before she asks, “Has it occurred to you that maybe she’s using you? That the innocence thing is just an act?”

“Of course it has.” John bites back and it stings. I close my eyes. I should walk away but I can’t. 

“And?”

“And I spent five minutes with her. She’s not some political mastermind. She’s a girl who made the choice to die so that her sister didn’t have to.”

“Fine. So she’s sweet. And kind. And that’s going to get her killed. And you if you don’t get it together. You can’t win if you’re distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.”

“You are.”

“I can walk away when the Games start.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Jonathan?”

I’ve heard enough. More than enough. I step quietly along, back towards the gym. It’s already cleared out and I can hear the slight hum of the other tributes in the lobby. I keep my head down, making no eye contact as I go back to my room. The moment my door closes behind me, I slide down to the floor. I’m shaking.

His handler is right. Everyone is right in that I’m not cut out for this. The only solace I find and keep finding is that it’s me and not Daisy here.

When the trembling subsides, I rise to my feet. I’m still shaky but I walk to the bathroom, stripping off my sweat-soaked training attire. I turn on the tub and stare into the mirror. I look so much older with my hair tied back but the reality is, I should be in school. We all should be. But it’s not that simple. 

In a matter of days, I would be released into some unknown territory to fend for myself as long as I could. 

I sink into the tub and close my eyes. 


	4. Interlude

“Helen?” There’s a knock, followed by another more frantic, “Helen!”

I open my eyes, “What?” I’m still in the tub, the water has gone cold. 

“Are you dressed?” John asks loudly from the other side of the door.

“Ju-just a sec.” I scramble from the tub. There’s a bathrobe on the back of the door and I yank it off. I’m shivering as I pull the belt closed and tie it.

I open the door and John is there, dressed in a plain white shirt and grey sweatpants.

“Are you okay?” He asks, reaching out to touch my face, “Your lips are blue.”

“Fell-fell asleep in the t-tub.” I stutter out.

John pulls me in close and wraps his arms around me. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Am I l-late for d-dinner?” 

He laughs humorlessly, “Just a bit. No one had seen you and then you weren’t answering your door.”

“How d-did you get-t in?”

“Remind me to add lock picking to the list of things you need to learn.”

I guess he was still planning to teach me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. As much as I hated it, his handler was right. The only way for John to make it through this was to remind everyone exactly who he was. 

I step back out of his arms and John looks at me curiously.

“What’s wrong?”

“Y-you need t-to,” I tense my jaw, “you need to listen to your ha-handler, John."

His face shuts down, blank, and void of emotion. His voice is calm but terrifying as he asks, “What did she say to you?”

I shake my head, “She didn’t say anything to me.”

He blinks, “You overheard. In the shooting range.”

“She’s right, John. Even with all this,” I reply softly, “Is it going to make a difference? Half a dozen of you have been trained. Nearly everyone has at least some sort of experience with weapons or survival skills.”

“You deserve a chance.”

“I’m not saying I don’t. But, statistically, half of the tributes will die in the bloodbath. Should you be wasting your time with me when I likely won’t make it through the Cornucopia?”

I don’t see him move but suddenly I’m pushed into the hotel wall. Hard. “Don’t say that.” He growls, his hands at my hips as he stares down at me.

“What? The truth?”

“You have a shot.”

“Do I?” I ask him, trying not to focus on the way his body presses into mine. “Against the Bowery King? Sofia? Iosef and Viggo? Against you, John?” His expression does not change but I see the weight in his eyes. He knows, just as I do, how hopeless this is. “It’s okay.” I tell him, “I plan on fighting until my last breath. But that doesn’t change the fact my last breath is going to be in whatever landscape the Capitol chooses. I’ve made my peace with that. But John, you can win this. But you need to start playing the Game.”

“Fuck the Game.”

“Sponsors, opponents, the world. They’re all watching you, John.”

“I don’t care.” His hands glide up past my waist and then up my ribs.

“The others need to see you strong. You--”

“I don’t give a damn about how the others see me.” His hands roll up over my shoulder.

“The sponsors…” I try again, his fingers brushing back my wet hair from my neck.

“Fuck them.” He says and his mouth is on mine. His lips are surprisingly soft and his touch is gentle. John’s fingers tangle in my hair and he tilts my face further up. I feel my arms circle around him, almost of their own volition. 

As mine circle around his neck, his fall down my body, pulling me even closer to him.

His tongue is sweet and smoky and curls around my own. He sucks my tongue in his mouth and I groan into him. I feel his lips curl upward victoriously. I pull back and nip his lip with my teeth and John steps in, lifting my hips off the ground and into the air. My legs wrap around him as he crushes me into the wall and nips back.

We’re both smiling now as he places teasing kisses along my lips.

I open my eyes and find myself staring into his. He holds me at eye level. I rest my forehead against his and tighten my arms, hugging him closer.

“John…”

“Can we…” He shakes his head softly and I smile as mine moves with his. “Can we just talk about it tomorrow? I have no plans in changing how I spend my days but I don’t want to argue right now.”

“Okay,” I say and press another soft kiss to his lips.

“Dinner?”

“Let me put on some clothes,” I say, unwrapping my legs from his hips.

“I mean, don’t feel you have to get dressed on my account.” He says as he sets my feet back down to the floor.

I roll my eyes and head for my closet. 

“Is that a no?”

I close the door behind me.

.

"Do you think you're going to be in trouble for this?" I ask as John strokes my hair back from my face. My head is in his lap, the sun long since having set. Still, the lights if the Capitol shine bright enough to illuminate the sky.

He inclines his head, "The Director will probably be pissed but there's nothing she can do about it."

"She's right, you know. You arent do yourself any favors by ignoring the competition."

"Not ignoring you."

"I'm not exactly competition. And spending your day helping me? It won't give you sponsors."

"I don't need sponsors to win."

"No," I agreed, "But it sure would help."

John gives me a soft smile and he looks much younger than he usually does, "Worried about me, Kingston?"

I shrug a shoulder, "Don't get cocky, Wick."

"Too late for that. By about a decade."

I smile and reach my arm up, slipping my hand behind his head. John's arm slips beneath my back and he helps me rise to meet him. 

He kisses me softly. I'm once again in awe of how gentle John Wick, the Bogeyman himself, is capable of being. 

No one knows him, not really. Yes, he is capable of being ruthless and dark and I know his drive and level of focus are unparalleled.

But he is so much more than that too.

John kisses the corner of my mouth. "Run away with me."

"And go where?"

"Anywhere." Another kiss is pressed below my ear. "We can go to the sea, find an island. Or a secluded peninsula. Live off the lands and fuck the Capital."

"It's a beautiful thought." I say, "but they wouldn't let us go that easily."

"They couldn't stop us. If you wanted, we could run and never look back."

It's so tempting. And the thing is, I believe him. He's resourceful and powerful and he could actually figure out a way to get out of this trap of a hotel. He could probably even keep us alive. But tempting as it was to try, there would always be leverage against us.

"They'd go after my family.”

He knows I’m right. He doesn’t reply but I feel his lips press against my hair.

“You’re sister must be something special.”

I smile, flashes of Daisy in my mind. Her beautiful brown between my fingers as I braid it at the breakfast table. Her crawling into bed with me early in the morning after a nightmare. Her arms around me, squeezing me in a tight hug each morning before she left for school.

“She is.” I reply and turn my head into his chest. He tucks my head under his chin.

Minutes pass. The lights around us grow brighter as the sky fades away and I revel in the silence. I feel his heartbeat in his chest. 

He really should be elsewhere, sizing up the competition. But he’s here with me and I’m not entirely sure why. He finds me attractive but I’m not the only woman here. In fact, there are eleven others. Well, nine within an appropriate age range for him. Plus all the trainers who would kill to say they took John Wick to bed. 

Perkins would fuck him in an instant if he asked so it isn’t about sex.

John’s fingers swirl lazy patterns along my arms and I sigh, sinking back into him and his warmth. I roll my shoulder back.

"Sore?"

"Very." I yawn.

"Good. That means we're doing something right." 

I snort and I can practically feel John roll his eyes even though I can't see his face.

"Wow. Very appropriate."

I lean back and take him in. His dark hair loose around his face, beard neatly trimmed and eyes shining as he smirks at me.

"And isn't that why you like me, Mr. Wick? Because I'm not appropriate?"

"It's part of it."

"And the rest?"

Oh, I was feeling cocky.

Then again, I would be dead in a week. No reason to pretend otherwise.

"I like your wit." He kisses my temple, "I like your smile," 

Oh...

He kisses my cheek. "I like your heart…" he kisses the corner of my lips, "and the way you are so. very. good."

I kiss him, slow and softly.

He is my competitor. In only days, we will be pitted against each other to the death. I'm not sure I can kill anyone, let alone him. I'm not sure I want to let the Capitol turn me into a killer before I die.

And John… he could easily kill us all in the Cornucopia if he wasn't such a damn showman. I'm not sure where that leaves me.

There are so many questions and I’m not sure I want to know the answers. There’s so little time left. Do I want to lose it to the details?

He pulls back and kisses my nose and…

This is John fucking Wick.

And he just kissed my nose and he’s holding me so gently in his arms and I’m not sure how to process any of it. He’s killed people in the District 1 trials. I’ve seen them. I’ve watched him kill.

And I just can't make sense of any of it.

He kisses me again and I decide that it’s okay. Maybe this is something that I’m not supposed to make sense of. Maybe it doesn’t need to make sense.

John rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.

He opens them again with a sigh. “Come on.”

He lifts me with ease to my feet.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Still got to train tomorrow.” He replies, picking up the blanket and the basket of food. “You need to rest.”

I roll my eyes, “Is that your professional opinion as my trainer?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He places his hand at the small of my back and guides me back through the door and down the stairs.

I am tired but I grimace at the thought of going to bed. 

He takes us to the elevator and hits the down button.

“You know, you strike me more as a stairs kind of guy.”

“Usually. But you look tired.”

I hold back a yawn and feel my eyes water. John grins, knowing he’s right.

I rest my head on his chest while we wait for it to ascend. He strokes my hair and I know I could fall asleep then and there.

The elevator dings and I lift my head. “What floor are you on?”

“Ninth. But I’ll walk you home.”

“What a gentleman.”

“I try.”

I fall into his arms again, wrapping my own around his torso. I can’t help it. Maybe it’s the fear of where we are. Maybe it’s the fact that we have so little time left that I just don’t care anymore. Or maybe it’s John. 

But I don’t want to let go.

I feel him kiss the top of my head and I smile, taking in a deep breath. He smells divine. I could easily breathe him for the rest of my life. I laugh to myself. Not much longer then.

John moves against me and I feel his arm against my legs and suddenly I jolt back to awareness as he scoops me off the ground.

“John!”

There is a ding and the elevator doors open.

“Relax.” He says softly. “Key?”

I reach down to my pocket as he starts walking down the hall. I pull it out as he leads us to my door. I swipe it quickly and the door opens.

John shuts the door with his foot and carries me into my temporary home. My bed is unmade from my nap and John sets me down on the bed, leaning down to give me a kiss.

I reach up quickly, tangling my hand in his hair before he can leave and nip at his lips.

He smiles. “Get some sleep.”

“Stay.” It spills from my lips naturally. I’m not ready to part. “You need to sleep, too.”

John blinks, looking at me curiously. 

I have never been incredibly brave but I scooch over, making room for him.

A moment passes and I see him swallow.

Have I managed to intimidate John Wick?

And then it is over. The vulnerability is gone from his eyes as he shoots me that stupid smirk and kicks off his shoes. I do the same, letting them fall from the bed. He unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

I slip under the covers and hold them up. His hand covers mine and he slips next to me. John holds out his arm and I rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps his hand around me to meet the other and I am encased within him. He kisses my forehead and I smile.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Helen.”

I place my hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat as I drift to sleep.


	5. Shaking the Games

There is a loud knock on the door and I jolt, curling into John. I hear a soft chuckle and I open my eyes. John is very much awake, smiling softly down at me.

“Morning.” He says quietly.

“What time is it?” I rasp out as there is another knock on the door.

“Helen!”

John kisses my forehead and untangles himself from me. “Seven-thirty. I was going to let you sleep in until eight but…” He crosses to the door and I roll onto my back. I’m still a bit sore from yesterday but I don’t feel too terrible. I stretch with a pout.

I wish to god that the training wasn’t mandatory since it’s such a fucking waste of time for more than half of us. Well, really, for everyone but John. And he wasn’t even doing anything besides training me.

He opens the door and it’s almost worth it for the look of shock on Marcus’ face. He looks at John standing in my doorway. He’s not wearing a shirt and his hair is a tousled mess.

Marcus glances around him to me. Still under the covers with half the bed empty. I give him a small finger wave and he shakes his head.

He turns on his heels, calling over his shoulder, “Winston said to make sure you were up.”

John closes the doors, a small smile on his face as he does so. “That went well.”

I shake my head, “Come here.”

He strides back to me, crawling onto the bed and then over me. It should be impossible for anyone to look that damn good in the morning but what is and isn’t possible doesn’t seem to be a concern for John.

He dips his head and my eyes flutter shut as he kisses me. My hands move of their own volition, tracing their way up his arms and around his neck. 

It’s official. He should never be allowed to wear a shirt again. 

He looks and feels too good without one.

John peppers my face with kisses and I laugh, tangling my hand in his hair and pulling him back to my lips for one more.

I smile as we break apart, opening my eyes, “Good morning.”

“Really fucking is.” He agrees, a last little kiss on my nose. “I’m going to go to my room and change. Be back in ten.”

I nod and give him a last small kiss before he crawls off me. He picks up his shirt off the floor but doesn’t bother with it as he leaves my room. I wonder, idly, if anyone else will see.

Marcus isn’t a gossip but I’m positive he will have told Winston.

The poor man might have a conniption. 

With a sigh, I push up to sitting and then to my feet. I stretch my calves again before going to pick out another one of the training uniforms. I change in the bathroom and brush my teeth.

I come out and John is standing at the counter with an apple. The black training uniform is molded to his body.

"Pick the lock again?"

He smirks and flashes me my keycard. 

"Breaking and entering. Stealing. You get away with all of this in District 1?"

"I killed 3 men with a pencil in the trials. They let me get away with a lot of shit."

True.

He walks over and opens the door for me. I go through glancing over my shoulder, "and yet you're such a gentleman."

He winks, "only for you. Go easy on carbs at breakfast. Heavy on protein and fruit. We're gonna do what we did yesterday. Hand to hand in the morning, firearms after lunch."

"Your handler is going to kill you if you keep spending your time on me."

"I've lived a good life."

I snort and reach to call the elevator. His hand reaches out and redirects my path. He intertwines his fingers and spins me so that I am back to the wall. 

He kisses me softly.

We haven’t discussed it but I think we both know what a bad idea it would be to show affection in public. There is a time and a place. Whether or not he is taking over my training, regardless of the rumors that fly, it isn’t a good idea to give anyone any real fodder towards us. 

I savor what will likely be our last kiss until we are dismissed tonight.

I taste the apple on his tongue. It is sweet and subtle and I want to say to hell with the Games. But there are consequences still and, ultimately, anything that will give me an edge to not die in the first five minutes will be useful.

He sighs as we break away, resting his forehead on mine before stepping back and hitting the elevator call button.

“Marcus,” John says as we wait, “He doesn’t strike me as a gossip.”

“He’s not. And I’ll talk to him just to be safe.”

“Your name is going to be associated with mine after yesterday. It may serve as a double-edged sword.”

I nod. While most of the competition would now view me under John’s protection and, therefore, off-limits, there would certainly be a few who would see me as an easy way to get to John. A way to get him off his game without having to go near him.

“Not like they don’t already see me as a target. Every one of them intends to kill me anyway.”

“Still,” John says, eyes watching the numbers click downward as the elevator travels to us, “Be careful. Remember what I said about Iosef.”

I did and I would. There is a bell and the elevator door opens.

Perkins is there with Tarasov and Avi. She raises a brow.

They know this isn’t his floor. As the other candidate from District One, she was almost certainly in the room next to him.

John steps in first and stands very carefully in the middle of the elevator. Perkins and Viggo had been talking when the door opened but they now stood in silence in a back corner. Avi is across the way.

John turns, and with his eyes, traces a path that stops right in front of him. It is slightly closer to Avi and away from the two volunteers.

He’s being a bit overdramatic. No one is going to say or try shit in here but I follow, standing where he indicates.

We ride the elevator down to the first floor in silence. Each hair is on end. The only sound is the whirring of the mechanics. 

It is a relief when the doors open and I quickly step out, followed by John. He’s walking close to me, standing carefully at my back, as we cross over to the cafeteria. 

Before I can walk in, he taps my shoulder. I glance back and follow as nods off to the side.

Viggo, Avi, and Perkins all walk into the cafeteria ahead of us. Perkins makes no effort to conceal her interest in watching us.

Once they disappear, John turns his attention back to me.

“I’m going to get things prepped and warm up. Do me a favor?”

I nod, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Stay with Marcus or Winston. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

“John, no one is going to try anything. No blood…”

“On the Continental grounds. I know. Just… humor me? Please?”

The Baba Yaga just said please.

I try not to read more into it than is there so I nod. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He reaches to give my hand a quick squeeze.

Marcus is sitting alone when I enter the cafeteria. I put some eggs and sausage on my plate, as well as a few pieces of fruit, and head over. I sit across from him and he glances up from his toast at my arrival.

We sit in silence for a few awkward moments before I ask, “Have you seen Winston?”

He points to the far corner. Winston is sitting with John’s handler, the Director. They’re arguing and both look pissed.

I grimace, “Did you say anything to them about…”

“About finding you in bed with Wick?” He asks quietly but there is still a bite to his words. “Fuck no. If anyone asks, I didn’t see shit. I didn’t hear shit. I don’t know shit. But, fuck, Helen, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Me too.

“I have no illusions about how this week is going to go. If I’m alive in seven days, it’ll be a miracle.” I take a bite of my eggs, “John… he’s just a nice guy who gets it. He gets it and he doesn't try to make the Games something that they're not."

Marcus blinks, “I have no idea how to unpack that but the fact you think John Wick is a nice guy--”

“He is!”

“He’s a trained killer who very likely may be the one to kill you. You know he doesn’t do alliances. Doesn’t it concern you that he’s so focused on you?” Marcus lowers his voice from a hush to a whisper, “And the competitors aren’t stupid, Helen. He spends all day training you yesterday and then neither of you show up to dinner?”

“If gossip is your main concern the week before we’re unleashed into a battle royale, you might need to rethink your priorities. I don’t care what everyone is saying.” 

Marcus shakes his head, “You  _ should _ . Because the way I see this, it’s going to go two ways and both of them have you screwed.”

I wave a hand for him to elaborate. 

He holds up a finger. “One: Wick is fucking with you. He’s using you to look human so he can get sponsorship. And when he’s done, he’s going to kill you off and ride away to victory.” Ouch. “...or…” he holds up a second finger and I sit back in my chair, “He’s genuinely being a nice guy. Maybe he actually does like you. But, if that’s the case, the fucking Baba Yaga has just announced to the world that he has an external weakness. Everyone here who wants to kill John Wick but is scared that he’s going to fucking destroy them is going to come after you.”

I rub my neck, “I know.” I tell him. “I know. He doesn’t want me going anywhere alone because he’s paranoid that Tarasov or the Iosef kid might try something.”

“They might. Iosef was having a fucking field day at dinner last night.”

“I’m sure."

"I don't know who was more pissed. Winston or the Director."

I glance back. The Director is obviously ranting, shaking her head and pointing a violent finger in my direction.

Christ.

"That woman is intimidating."

"I remember my mom telling me about the year the Director won. She got down to the final two and that year, they only put steel weapons in the arena. She got stabbed through both hands and then tackled her competition to the ground and literally made them choke to death on her blood. She's ruthless."

"And she does not like me."

Marcus snorts, "a bit of an understatement."

"She went off on John yesterday. I left the room and she tore into him about wasting his time on me."

"What did Wick say?"

"To fuck off, basically."

"Can't tell if your boyfriend is brave or stupid."

"He's not my boyfriend."

“Does he know that?”

I take a long drink of water and wish that it was something stronger.

It’s too early for this kind of conversation.

“Just be careful.” He says as Winston stands up. Our handler says something that makes the Director flare her nostrils in distaste, and he turns to walk towards us. “He’s still John Wick. Still the Baba Yaga. I really think you need to take a moment and rethink what you’re doing.”

A chair is pulled back and Winston sits down, looking at me. “Whatever you’re doing with John Wick, keep it up.”

I look from Winston to Marcus, who looks just as shocked as me, and back. “What?”

“This competition has been straightforward from the beginning. With John Wick in the Games, there has never been any chance of anyone else winning. It was barely going to be a true Hunger Games so much as a slaughter.”

“It still could be,” Marcus says with a frown.

Winston doesn’t look away from me and shakes his head, “You just shook the Games to the core.”

“He’s just training me.”

Again, Winston shakes his head. “John Wick is not a political player. He doesn’t do alliances and he certainly doesn’t offer help because he sees someone struggling.”

“We haven’t aligned.” I’m quick to say, “Honestly. We get along well. We’re friendly.” Marcus snorts and I shoot him a glare, “But we’re not aligned.”

“But you are friendly.” Winston says, “John Wick doesn’t have friends. He doesn’t make emotional connections. Now that he has, no one knows how he’s going to react when the Games begin.”

“Are you really encouraging this?” Marcus asks, “Wick could just be using her to throw off the competition. He isn’t stupid.”

Winston looks to Marcus, “You don’t understand, boy. Whether or not Wick is using her is irrelevant.”

I roll my eyes, “Thanks.”

“His concentration is on another. And judging by the conversation I just had with his handler, this was not what she had planned for him during the training period. They’re at odds right now, which means Wick is alienated from his biggest ally.”

“They’re not alienated, they’re just having a disagreement.” I say, “She’s concerned he’s not being political enough because he’s spending all his free time with me.”

“So he was with you last night.” Winston confirms, “And the Director said she found you two together the first night as well. When you were both missing from the dinner.”

Marcus throws me a look. “I didn’t know that.”

I shrug, “We were just getting away from all the bullshit.”

“Two nights in a row, rather than spending his time learning his enemy, Wick has devoted his evenings to her.” Winston raises a brow at Marcus, “He is quite literally giving his competition a chance to plot without him present.”

“The other District 1 tribute is still there.”

“John can’t stand her.” They both look at me and I shrug, “What? He can’t. Especially given who she’s aligning with since they arrived.”

“He talks to you about the competitors?” Winston asks.

“Yeah, I guess. Amongst other things. Mostly he gives me advice on their strengths and weaknesses.”

They both stare at me.

“What? He knows the competition is rigged. He’s just giving me a leg up so that I’m not completely screwed.”

They exchange a look with each other.

“He told her not to go anywhere alone today. Said to come down to training with one of us.” Marcus tells our handler, “Thinks Tarasov and the Abrams kid might make a move on her.”

“There’s no blood on Continental grounds.” Winston says, “But I’ve seen people break the rule before. Not much happens, to be honest, considering you’re all about to be put in an arena to battle for your lives.”

“That’s pretty much what John indicated.” I say, “Particularly with Iosef, John doesn’t trust them to follow the rules.”

Winston nods thoughtfully. “Interesting, to say the least. He sounds very protective of you.”

“Possessive, more like.” Marcus adds, “John Wick doesn’t seem like the type of man who shares easily.”

“Hi,” I wave, “Person here. I’m not a playground toy.”

“No, you’re not.” Winston regards me, “Does he plan on training you again today?”

I nod.

“Finish eating.” Winston tells me and looks at Marcus, “I want to go review the training tapes from yesterday. Walk down with her. Don’t leave her alone until you pass her off to Wick.”

“Still a person,” I say exasperated.

Winston smiles softly at me and gets up from the table. “I’ll catch up with you two in a bit.”

.

Marcus walks me down to the gym once we both finish. John is going pull-ups when we walk in but he drops from the bar when he sees us.

He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as he makes his way over. A few other tributes are already present. Ares and Santino are sparring again. Perkins is on the treadmill next to Tarasov both  _ watching _ . Waiting to see what Wick will do next.

Wick nods to Marcus as he reaches us. "Thanks." He says simply and Marcus nods back.

"You got her?"

"I got her."

Marcus shoots me a look of warning. I still need to be careful. He walks off toward the shooting gallery and John motions with his head for me to follow and leads me down below to the mats.

"Hi Helen!" Addy says cheerfully as she stretches. "Hi Mr. Wick!"

I glance at John. His lips have quirked up in a small grin. "Addy." He looks back at me.

"Level with me. How are your muscles feeling?"

"My arms are a little tense."

He nods, "We'll start there. Take your arms like this," he stretches his own arm back over his head, hand on his opposite elbow. I copy his motions and he nods, "pull back so That it burns but doesn't hurt. Then the other side."

I follow his instructions and Addy happily follows along. John exchanged a glance with me and I give him a soft smile. He returns it before straightening his face and looking around.

I blink and follow his instructions for each stretch. He offers suggestions and gently repositions me as needed, even helping Addy as she tries to keep up.

Its sweet but the gazes following us are more prevalent today. I guess us disappearing last night had more of an effect than I expected. 

"Just you and me," John says as he straightens my posture. 

I nod and force a smile, "someone needs to tell them you're not that interesting."

He leans in close, his lips next to my ear. "They're not watching because of me."

I swallow as he steps back and moves to help Addy. Winston nods at me from the edge of the training room and I find myself shiver in discomfort.

A Continental staff steps up and announces that it is time to make out way to the training room and I feel the tension rise within me. The world will soon be watching.

I lead the way back to the ring. John is never more than a few steps behind me. He crawls in first and then offers me a hand to help pull me up.

"We'll review what we learned yesterday first." He tells me. "You good if I knock you over?"

I wiggle my shoulders, loosening up. "No one is going to ask me in the arena. Knock me."

He does, giving me a hard shove. I fall backward with ease, just the way he taught me. I roll back to my feet and he nods in approval.

His trainer joins us and they work in tandem to show me how to take a fall when I’m tripped or when I’m pushed from behind. While Braulio doesn’t seem thrilled to be used to train me, he isn’t stupid enough to say anything to John

When John is satisfied that I can fall in any and every direction, we switch to defense. He attacks, so much slower and gentler than he is capable of but so that he does not overwhelm me. I remind him again that I won’t break. His trainer pulls a few less punches but I am still able to adequately defend.

They bring in the dummy for me to work on my kicks.

It’s a relief to do something new. John shows me how to stay balanced and still deliver a hard blow. 

When lunch is called, it is a surprise. I barely noticed the morning go by or the cameras that had noticed us all day. 

“Naptime,” I say with a yawn.

“No lunch?” John asks.

“Maybe later. I’m exhausted.”

“Come on.” He says, leading the way back to the elevators. “We can order room service and you can sleep.”

“Sounds divine.”

He hits the button for his floor. The elevator doors close, separating us from the others going to lunch. He wraps his arms around me and I snuggle into him, yawning again.

“Feeling okay?” he asks me softly.

I nod. “Can’t believe you’ve trained like that every day for years.”

“You get used to it.”

I snort at that, “Really?”

I feel him shrug against me. “As much as you do anything. I’ve been training for the Games since I was five.”

That might honestly be the saddest thing I have ever heard. 

I wrap my arms around his middle and feel him press a kiss to my head.

What are we doing?

I shiver and ask quietly, "are we crazy, John?"

He's quiet as the elevator bell dings and he loosens his grip on me only to take my hand, "no." He says as we walk towards what I can only guess his room. "We're just trying to make good with the time we have."

He opens his door and lets me in first. I beeline to the bed and crash down face first. 

John chuckles and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. I feel it give under his weight. He scoops up my feet and lay them across his lap. I glance back and he is untying my laces. I roll onto my side to make it easier.

He slides off my shoe and puts it on the floor and repeats the actions with the other.

It’s surreal.

The Baba Yaga is unlacing my shoes so that I can nap in his bed.

Winston would have a field day with that one.

John sets the second shoe down and places my feet back on the bed gently. I watch him as he stands and walks around the bed to pull the covers back.

I crawl up the bed and slip beneath them.

“What do you want for lunch?” John asks me. 

I shrug. “Not picky.”

“Okay.” He bends down and kisses my forehead, then my nose, then my lips. “Get some rest.” He tells me, with a final peck to my lips.

I smile even as I close my eyes, letting the exhaustion, at last, consume me.


	6. Evaluations

After my nap and the lunch John had ordered for us, we traveled back down to work on weapons. Knife throwing first before a review of firearms.

I’m good with the knives. Scary good, almost and I can tell that John is impressed. But it might not be so easy to find weapons in the Games. There have been years where weapons are limited in number or not provided at all. I remember one year when bows and arrows were all that were used and stashed in the arena.

Anything can happen in the Games and John says as much repeatedly.

When we are finally dismissed for the day,

When the rest of the tributes go to dinner, we go off on our own. John makes it a point to come to my room as soon as he finishes washing up to ensure I haven’t fallen asleep in the tub. And then we go back to the roof to watch the sunset and the stars rise until I’m too tired to stay awake. 

We retire to my room and I fall asleep with my head on his shoulder.

The days that follow are the same. We wake up together and John will walk me to breakfast. Winston quizzes me on what I know from John and Marcus continues to watch with fascination. One of them will walk me down to wherever John is. Winston has decided to trust John’s instincts and to not leave me alone while Iosef continues to spend each free moment watching me like a twisted hawk.

John will help me warm up before practicing hand to hand with me until lunch. I sleep through our breaks while John will sit next to me on the bed, reading everything he can on any and every possible terrain we could be placed within. 

After our break, we’ll work with weapons until dinner time.

And again, we’ll disappear together while the rest go to socialize and play politics.

Each night, we wind up in bed together. Regardless of how we fall asleep, I wake up nestled against his chest with his arm wrapped around me protectively.

And then we’ll begin again.

Today is different. Today, we cannot escape from our peers as soon as we are released from training. It’s time for evaluations.

John doesn’t seem at all concerned, despite the fact he’s been doing nothing but help me prepare. 

“Evaluations mean nothing, Hel.” He tells me.

“They determine a lot when it comes to sponsorship.” I remind him. “You’ll need that.”

John just smirks, “Trust me. I’ll get sponsorship.”

He’s more concerned with me than he is with himself. “I’m torn.” He tells me as he eats lunch with me in my room. “On the one hand, having a high score will get you sponsorship. On the other, having a low score will make you seem like less of a threat.”

“Maybe I should just do ballet then. Dance around in a tutu. Maybe recite a nursery rhyme.”

“Smartass.”

It does nothing to alleviate the intense focus and concern on his face as I take another bite of my sandwich. 

"Look at the bright side…"

"Which is?"

"It probably won’t make much of a difference what I do. Low score, high score, I’ll still be dead next week.”

He stills and I kind of regret my casual phrasing. I may have made my piece but John hasn’t. “I really don’t find that comforting.”

“It’ll be okay, John,” I say, standing up just to sit down again on the arm of his chair. “I’ll do some tricks with the knife so I don’t look totally useless and get out. Honestly, I just need to make sure I’m not the highest or the lowest. And I’m pretty certain you’ll be the highest.”

He swipes his hair back, raking his fingers across his scalp. “Yeah. Yeah, that should be good. I’ll show you some tricks with the knife that’ll make it look like you know more than you do this afternoon.”

“Okay.” I agree and kiss his head.

Days have passed since our first kiss and we still haven’t talked about it or any of the subsequent kisses that have followed. We haven’t spoken about the fact that we’re sleeping in each other's arms each night. Perhaps its because there is nothing to say. We are both taking comfort in each other before we are left at the mercy of the Games. But the days are counting down quickly.

Tomorrow we have interviews, live in front of the world and a break from training in order to film our video wills and goodbyes, should we in all likelihood die, and the last supper. The final banquet that they hold for tributes filled with the finest food and entertainment the Capitol can afford.

And then, it’s game time. 

The next few days are going to go just as fast as these ones have.

As far as I know, the Director has given up on trying to get John back to training. Unless it's been in the very early hours of the morning when only John and a few others are awake to warm up, I would have noticed.

I want to say something. I need to say something. But I’m not sure what. A thank you is not sufficient for all John has done for me and I know it’s not what he wants. 

John reaches up and wraps an arm around my hips, easily scooping me off the arm of the chair and into his lap. I roll my eyes as his fingers play with my hair and rest my head on his shoulder.

He’s tense.

We all are. 

The countdown is on.

It’s only a matter of time.

.

We all are dismissed immediately after the training to go and change. John and I will not be able to escape the crowd and go to the roof tonight, as we have done previously. Instead, we would eat a planned meal of grains, legumes, and vegetables before performing for the High Table and Game Makers.

We are separated, as far from one another as we can be. He sits at the front of the table and the other districts fall in descent. My only saving grace is that because all the males are seated on one side and the females another, I am able to see him. To take comfort in his presence.

I sit next to Harriet, with Addy on her other side. We make quiet conversation about what they’ve been learning from their instructors. Addy is pale and scared. Harriet keeps a brave face but it is only quick reflexes and a keen eye that make it possible for me to catch the cup she was going to knock over. Her hands were shaking even if her eyes were steady.

Dinner is cleared and the concierge enters the room. “Wick.”

John pushes back his seat from the table. He looks bored if anything, but I catch the glance he throws my way as he is led into the evaluations.

He’ll go first. And I’ll go last. 

The other tributes begin to walk around, some take the opportunity to stretch. 

“How are you doing?” Marcus asks me.

“Alright, I guess.” I shrug, “I’ve made my peace, I think. Whatever happens, happens. What about you?”

“Holding it together.” He offers a small smile, “Wish I was back home.”

“Don’t we all.”

It doesn’t take long for the concierge to come back and call out, “Perkins!” 

Perkins, who had been sitting on the table conversing with Viggo and Iosef, jumps off and saunters over to the door.

I hate that I will be going last. That I literally have to follow every single tribute.

I look around the room. Everyone has improved vastly in the past few days. Sofia had proven herself to be an excellent sharpshooter. Ares had repeatedly wowed everyone with her camouflage skills and quick reflexes. Even Addy had shocked people with how quick she had picked up a knowledge of herbs and flowers.

The tributes are taken, one by one.

Before long, its time for district four. I leave the table to go and get some water over at the refreshments table.

I don’t hear him approach but suddenly Iosef Abrams is standing next to me, looking down at me.

“Can I help you?” I ask when I note him. I step a bit to the side, reclaiming my space.

He gives me a grin that has me tensed to flee if needed.

“Just getting a better look.” He tells me, “Since your guardian isn’t here.” Iosef steps behind me, trapping me towards the table. Either way I step, he can block me. I have to remind myself what we both know.  _ No blood on Continental grounds _ . I cannot attack and anywhere I go in this room, he can follow me. We are locked in until it is time for us to perform.

“Tell me, since you know Wick better than the rest of us, which would upset him most?” I don’t like where this is going but I hold my ground, keeping my face blank as I have seen John do a dozen times. “Seeing his pretty little whore disemboweled?” I want to vomit but I swallow it back. I will not give him the satisfaction. “Throat slit, lying in a pool of her own blood? A shot through the head, side to side, so that she still looks just as pretty from the front?” He gives a soft chuckle and leans in, “Do you think he would prefer to watch you die? Or stumble upon your bloody corpse?”

“Iosef.” Marcus is there and I close my eyes in relief. “Leave her be.”

“Relax, 12. I’m not hurting anyone.” Iosef says, holding up his hands in mock surrender, “Just taking a quick poll.”

“Think, for a minute.” Marcus grits out. “What do you think Wick is going to do to you if he hears you talking like that?”

“Not a goddamn thing here.” Iosef backs away with a grin, spreading his arms as if he owns the place, “If Mr. Wick has something to say to me, he can say it in the Games.”

“Abrams!”

Iosef smiles to me, “See you on the flip side.”

He turns and strolls from the room. I place both hands on the table and exhale. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Iosef is gone and oke thought remains. “Don’t tell John.”

“Why not?”

I shake my head frantically. “He and Iosef and Tarasov… there’s some bad blood. I’m not sure John could control his temper and wait until the Games to address it.”

“How would that be a problem?” Marcus asks, “It would get rid of Wick and Iosef in one go. Consequences for breaking the rules of the Continental is death. We’d be at twenty-two before the Games even start.”

I look up at him, “Please, Marcus.”

Marcus shakes his head at me, “Christ, Helen. Do you even want to live?”

“Of course I want to live.” I snap at him, “But I’m not naive enough to think that I have a chance with these career tributes. To think that, with no training, I can compete with all these people who are stronger, fitter than I am. If it’s not John that kills me, it will be Iosef. Or Viggo. Or the Bowery King. Zero, Ares. You. It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Then why protect him?” Marcus asks, “Do you want him to win?”

Yes. 

“I don’t know. But I don’t want him to get himself killed over me.”

“This is the fucking Hunger Games, Helen. People die. Twenty-three to be exact. Why does it matter that he lives?”

The answer stutters inside my heart but I cannot say it aloud. Not to Marcus. Not here, in the Capitol, with cameras watching us as we get called, one by one to earn some arbitrary score that may or may not help us. 

“Just let it go. Iosef was being a dick but he didn’t hurt me.”

“Sure.” Marcus says sarcastically, “You weren’t the slightest bit affected.”

“Please, Marcus.”

He sighs, nostrils flaring. “Fine. I won’t tell Wick what Iosef said.”

“Thank you.”

Another is called. And another. And soon it is only Marcus and I left. I wonder if our school mates were routing for us. I wonder if they even think there's a chance that we will survive. Most of the older students are smart enough to know that we won’t be coming home victorious. 

Marcus is called.

I wonder what Daisy is doing.

I hope it's her homework. I hope she has enough food and that mom and dad have told her that none of this is her fault.

I hope against hope that she will never be reaped but also that she starts to prepare. That she gets strong and fit and prepared so if she ever is, she can beat them in ways I can’t.

I wonder what she’ll think when they announce our scores tomorrow at lunch. I hope she’ll be proud that I am holding my own. I hope she will know that all I want from her is a happy life.

“Kingston.”

I follow the voice, my eyes still hazy with a lack of focus. I blink several times and am led into a bright room. It is grand as anything I’ve ever seen. There is music and a mix of members of the High Table and Game Makers. They don’t seem to have noticed that I have entered the room. I know that twenty-three have gone before me but they appear to be uninterested. I go over to the target station, where knives are set up for me to throw. 

I close my eyes and remember what John has taught me and throw three knives in quick, succinct procession.

They descend nearly evenly. One in the head, the next in the throat, the final in the stomach of the dummy. 

I glance back. No one has noticed. No one is watching.

They’re just sitting there. Eating their goddamn dinner while Daisy is at home and I’m not even sure she’s been fed. They don’t even look at me or acknowledge that I am here and I am only here because they deemed it to be so. They wanted another year of the Hunger Games and so here I am. And they can’t even give me the basic courtesy of looking in my direction.

I don’t think about my actions. I’m too angry. Angry that Iosef has threatened me in such a way. Angry that whatever is going on between me and John is pointless because we will not both survive the week. Angry that Daisy could never even dream up a meal like the ones they were feasting on. Angry that these people had decided that my twelve-year-old sister was a fine candidate to be murdered for their entertainment.

The knife leaves my hand before I even realize I have picked it up. It soars through the air and there is a sickening crack as it embeds in the head of the roast pig. 

Silence follows. 

I have their attention now.

But I have nothing to give them.

I stroll forward to the table and take back the knife, yanking it out of the pig's head and dropping it to the stone floor. It clatters loudly. 

I scowl and give them a nod that I hope is able to convey the depth of my anger.

“Thanks,” I mock a bow, “For your consideration.”

And I go through to the exit.

The other contestants are all there when I arrive. They could not be released until we all had completed our task. John is near the door and he looks me over as I walk through. He narrows his eyes at my expression but I shake my head.

Not here.

The concierge comes through after me.

“Get some rest.” He tells us, “Tomorrow will be a very busy day.”

There is a click and the doors are unlocked. Tributes began filing out and I follow John out of the room, not really paying attention as he leads me away from the other tributes, likely all going to bed, and into an abandoned hall. Suddenly his arms are on either side of me and his expression is cross. 

“What happened with Abrams?”

That was not what had been expected.

“Oh, that snitch!” I say, anger increasing in ways I have never felt it before.

“Don’t blame Marcus.” John said shaking his head, “He wouldn’t tell me shit other than Abrams approached you after I was gone and made some remarks. What did he say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Like hell--”

“It doesn’t, John. He’s doing what we’re all supposed to be doing. Playing the Game. Trying to scare me, get me to reveal my hand. Get you to show him yours. Don’t buy into it.”

“What. Did. He. Say?”

I get why so many of them are afraid of John. Like a dog with a bone, he sinks his teeth in and he will not let go. Iosef is an idiot if he truly isn't afraid of what John will do to him. 

"We're still in the Continental." I remind John. "You can't go after him." I wait until John nods and I take a deep breath. "He wanted to know how you wanted my body displayed after he kills me."

For a moment the world is still. 

John’s face contorts, tightening as he ensures control in the moment. Suddenly and pushes off the wall and away from me, turning towards the other wall and shouting as he punches through the drywall.

“John!”

He swings again and the wall cracks again.

“John!”

I reach my hand out and carefully step forward, touching his back. 

He stops beneath my touch, still panting angrily. John is seething.

“I’m going to kill him.”

I step around him and take his face in my hands so that he is focused on me. “It’s smack talk. He’s trying to get a reaction out of you.”

“It’s working.” He grits out.

It is.

I wipe his hair back from his face, “He’s psycho.” I remind John, “But he isn’t very bright."

“He wants you.” John growls, “Has from the moment you stepped off that train. Looking innocent as hell. He wants to be the one to kill you.”

I nod. I remember Iosef that first day, telling John and the Santino’s that he wanted dibs on killing me.

“It’s what he’s here to do.” I remind him, “What we’re all here to do.”

“How can you not be angry?” John asks.

“He wants to live. We all do.” I shrug, “Granted, I’d rather be killed by anyone than Iosef.”

John removes my hands from his face and turns away, “Every day. Every fucking day, you talk so calmly about it. No ifs. Just when. When you die, when you die, when you die!” His hands are clenched but he keeps them at his side, “No anger, just you calmly waiting. Living out your days as if they were your last.” I open my mouth and John shakes his head, “Don’t. Don’t say that they are.”

“We both know how this works, John. Twenty-three go in, and--”

“And one comes out. I know. But why can’t it be you?”

“It won’t be.”

“Why not?” He shouts, backing me into the wall yet again. “Why can’t it be you?”

“Do you really think I can kill? Maybe, in self-defense, but... “ I shake my head, “This isn’t my world, John. I’m not cut out for this. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I am able to kill the twenty-two others out of self-defense. You really think I could kill you, John?”

He leans in, anger still radiating off him. “And do you really think, after all this, I can kill you?”

He storms away and I am left breathing heavily against the wall. 

One more day.

.

I wake as the door to my room closes with a jolt.

"Just me." Says John. "Go back to sleep?"

I'm exhausted and I nod, "you okay?"

The bed gives under his weight and he climbs in next to me. He kisses my head and says, "yeah. Better than I've been in a while."

I nuzzle my head against his chest and slip back unconscious.


	7. The Wildcard

I sleep in until 10:30. They let us rest today before the games begin. John is already gone.

I stare at the clock on my bedside table. In less than twenty-four hours, the games will have begun. 

I push myself up to a seated position. I will have one night left in a bed.

There is nothing left to do.

I draw a bath.

Then it will be time for lunch and the announcements of the scores. I make my will today. I will be interviewed before the world today.

The week went faster than I had anticipated.

I bathe, relaxing one final time in the hot water, letting my muscles take a break from the intense training they have undergone.

  
  


I wonder what John is doing.

Probably in the gym, regardless that it is no longer mandatory for us to train. I smile softly as I scrub my skin. I wonder what my parents and sister must think, watching us train each day together. 

I wonder what they think now, less than a day before it all begins. 

I know what I will say to them, when its time to record my final goodbye. Mom, dad, Daisy… I don’t know what I will say to John.

I sit until the water starts to chill and then I dry off and change into my powder-blue dress. If this is the last thing of me my parents see, I want it to be the me they know.

I braid my hair back in front of the mirror.

There is a knock on the door.

I tie a band around the end as I walk to open it. John gives me a small smile from the other side of the door and I hold it open for him. He’s dressed like he was the night we met. White crisp shirt with black suit pants.

“Didn’t see you at breakfast.”

“Thought I’d sleep in while I could. Make sure I’m ready for tomorrow.”

Tomorrow hung between us heavily. I wasn’t sure what could be said.

John sits down on what has come to be his chair and I sit across from him.

“What have you been up to?”

“Training. Then I showered.”

I nod.

There is so much to say, so little time left, and I am unable to speak any of it aloud.

“Do you have your token?” John asks me.

I blink, “oh, um… Fuck. They didn’t give us any time before we left. It slipped my mind completely.”

John shifts a little uncomfortably. “Well, you don’t have to, but... “ He takes out a black elongated jewelry box and sets it on the table between us, passing it to me. “If you want to use this…”

I take the jewelry box in hand and pick it up.

Why does he have to do this? Why does he have to be so wonderful as the world is crashing down around us?

I open the box. Six daisies are chained together made of silver with golden centers. It is simple yet I know it cost more than anything I have ever known. 

“Oh, John,” I whisper, taking it from the box. “How? When?”

“I’m from the district of luxury.” He said with a shrug, “Told Braulio what I wanted and he had it done.”

I don’t know what to say. “Thank you,” I whisper, still holding the chain as I cross to his chair. I straddle his lap and kiss him.

I’m not sure how many more times I will be able to kiss him before we are released. Will this be the last time I sit on his lap? The last time we talk without an audience?

He has been my rock since we arrived in the Capitol and I don’t know how I can let him go. But I know, we both know, there isn’t a choice.

John’s arms wrap around me and I am pulled closer to him. He kisses me hard and I am sure my lips will be bruised but I don’t care. I want them to be bruised. I want his fingers to squeeze my body until not a single part of me doesn’t remind me of him. I want to enter the Games as bruised as I know my heart and soul will be as we each go our own way.

My eyes are closed but they threaten to leak tears. I can’t though. Not now. Not when the Games will begin so soon.

I want to cry because, fuck, I love this man. 

This violent, dark man who everyone else here is afraid of.

Who kisses me behind closed doors and spends his time trying to make sure I am not swallowed alive by the Capitol. I wonder if anyone else in the world knows this side of him. 

I don’t think they do.

He kisses his way down my jaw, my neck. I suck in a breath as he nips my throat and kisses my sensitive pulse point. My arms tighten around him, the bracelet still in my hand as I move with him. He is mine, for now. I take comfort in that, squeezing my thighs around him.

John growls against me and pulls me tighter.

I gasp against him and John gives me a soft kiss against my lips.

We sit there, panting together, foreheads pressed, and holding each other tightly as if our worlds are not about to crash down around us. 

He holds me, his fingers tracing my body and stroking my hair as I sit, tangled in his lap. I love him. 

But how can I say it when all it will do is distract him?

John is going to win this. I find comfort in that.

We sit, clinging to each other until Marcus knocks on my door, calling, “Lunch!”

“Be right there.” I holler back and look up at John. “Ready?”

“No.”

I give him a soft smile. I wasn’t ready either but it was time to go. He stands up and sets me on my feet. I tug on my shoes and John opens the door for Marcus.

I fasten the bracelet to my wrist and see John smile, ever so slightly. 

Lunch is an array of fancy dishes I don’t recognize. Half a dozen tables are set out and there is no assigned seating. This is time for politics.

Our handlers were mingling at a long table in the back, all sitting on one side so that they could watch the results with us.

John grabs a table near the exit and I sit down, shaking my head. “Feed those about to die, not the thousands of starving in the lower districts.”

“No one ever said the Hunger Games was fair,” John says, making himself some sort of salad. He offers me some and I shake my head. If I’m going to die, it will be with bread in my stomach.

Marcus sits with us, shaking his head at the other tables. Perkins, Viggo, Avi, and Iosef are together, watching us. Perkins shakes her head at John, but he ignores her and passes me the bread. At least he’s smart enough to not offer me vegetables again.

“Can I sit with you?” Harriet asks, approaching our table nervously.

“Sure, Harry,” I tell her.

“Thanks. I’m kind of nervous about my score. They weren’t really paying attention to me when I was in there.”

John looks over at me. “That reminds me, I didn’t ask you how that went yesterday.”

I grimace and swallow the bread in my mouth, “Oh, you don’t want to know.”

“That bad?”

“I may have overplayed my hand.”

He inclined his head, “What the hell does that mean?”

I shrug, “Lost my temper. I’ll probably be somewhere at the bottom.”

“That’s good though.” Marcus says, “Stay underestimated.”

“You have a temper?” John looks at me incredulously. 

I smile at him, casually slipping off my shoe and stroking his leg. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mr. Wick.”

“I bet.” He catches my foot between his. “So what happened?”

I open my mouth when a Capitol official walks up to the podium, a screen falling behind him. “The training scores will be announced momentarily.” He says as the news turns on. John and Harriet turn their seats to better view the screen, John moving his chair just a bit back so that he could take my hand in his.

I lean forward to watch.

“Ready?” I ask.

He inclines his head, “The scores are subjective.”

I snort, “If you don’t have a ten or higher, I’ll eat a salad.”

John coughs, covering a laugh as the camera pans back to the newscasters.

“And we have the scores.

“Starting with District 1, we have frontrunner John Wick, with a rare perfect 12.”

“Fuck. Least I don’t have to eat a salad.” I say and he squeezes my hand. Iosef and Viggo are watching us. I’m sure John has noticed but he doesn’t say anything, just nods to himself. “Well done.”

“Thanks.”

“Also from District 1, 16-year-old Lise Perkins comes in with a 9.”

The Bowery King only manages an 8. Sofia surprises a lot of us with a 10.

Viggo has a 7, which makes John smirk. Poor Avi managed only a 3.

Zero, the bald martial artist from District 4 scores a 10. The fourteen-year-old girl with him had a 7.

Iosef was next. He scored a 6 and looked fucking pissed. I force myself to look away, knowing regardless of his average score, he was still dangerous. Asia “The Adjudicator” didn’t do too well either, with a 5.

Aurelio had always been nice enough but he clearly hadn’t impressed the high table. Only a 4. Julia gets a 6. That doesn’t surprise me. Both she and the Adjudicator were political players in all this.

Ernest, the huge near giant from District 7, scored only a 6. When I expressed my surprise, John had shaken its head at that and muttered something about “brute strength.” I smiled and squeezed his hand as Cassie with the freckles got a 9.

Santino scored an 8, as did Gianna. At least the siblings appeared evenly matched. I knew from John that, while they were both ruthless, neither were particularly skilled at combat.

Charon did well with a 9. Little Addy only managed a 5.

Charlie from District 10 received a 4. He seemed nice enough but he was small and frail. Ares received a 9. 

I could see poor Harry nervously bouncing in her seat as the District 11 tributes appeared on the screen. Francis had received a 4. Harry, only a 2. She kept a brave face and my heart stuttered in my chest. 

I knew that these scores were ridiculous and were not all they appeared, but I couldn’t help but wonder just how far back my little stunt was going to throw me.

“Marcus, a seventeen-year-old from District 12 comes in with an 8.” I smile at Marcus and John squeezes my hand, “And, in a surprising turn of events, District 12’s volunteer tribute, Helen Kingston, shakes the leaderboard with an 11, coming second only to John Wick.”

John’s head swivels quickly and I feel my mouth hang open. “Overplayed your hand, huh? Christ, Helen, what did you do in there?”

The air seemed to have changed around us. The tension had grown quickly in the two minutes it took for our scores to be publicized.

Marcus swears, shaking his head. “Did you kill someone?”

“No,” I said, aware that half of the room was staring at me, “I just may have threatened them a little.”

“You threatened the High Table?” John turns fully to face me.

“Only a little!”

He laughs softly and shakes his head, raking his free hand through his hair. “Oh, hell.”

Winston approaches the table and looks from me to John. “What did you have her do in there?” He hisses out.

John keeps shaking his head, “Wish I could claim some credit, Winston. This is all her.”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” I say leaning back in my chair.

“Helen!” 

“I, uh, well,” John squeezes my hand in support, looking at me with utter fascination, “They weren’t paying attention to anything but their dinner. I threw three knives and they hit the target perfectly,” John nods along with me, and Winston’s expression is unreadable, “But they weren’t paying attention. And I was pissed, so I threw a knife at the roast pig on the table and got it between the eyes,” John breaks into a grin as Winston’s mouth dropped open, “And I was snarky… and then I left.”

John holds my hand up and kisses it, “Oh baby.”

“You’ve just made yourself a target to everyone in this room.” Winston hisses at me.

“I already was a target to everyone in this room.”

“A supplemental one. Someone they would get along the way, not someone they were going to aim to take out.”

I look at John, “That bad?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Fuck.”

I glance around the room. People are starting to disperse. Video wills are next. Then the interviews.

A few tributes are still sitting. Ernest is looking at me curiously. Perkins raises her drink to me in a mocking salute.

I look back at John. 

He looks worried. As does Marcus.

“What’s done is done.” I say softly, “There’s no way to spin this.”

“There might be,” John says with a shake of his head.

“John. We have hours left. That broadcast just went live and every single person in here heard it. At worst, I lose a few hours, maybe a day. Everyone’s intentions are still largely the same.” I put my hand on his leg, “Stop worrying about me. You just scored a practically unheard of 12. Whatever is coming for me still has nothing on what will come for you.”

I stand up, “I’m going to go record my will.”

“I’ll come with you,” Harry says and we leave the table behind. “Are you okay?” She asks as we clear the room.

“Yeah.” I look down at her, “How about you?”

“Like you said… what’s done is done.”

I nod and we line up with the other tributes making their wills.

Not everyone does it. 

Some don’t have anything new to say to the people they leave behind.

Some truly believe they’ll survive this and that it’s a waste of time.

It’s no surprise that most of us lined up are from the outer districts.

Perkins steps in behind us.

“Interesting, Kingston.” She says, “And here I thought you were just John’s charity case.”

“Only on weekdays.”

“Funny.” Perkins doesn’t actually smile, rather inclines her head to the side, “So what’s the deal there? Have you two aligned?”

“John doesn’t believe in alliances.”

“And yet you two looked awful cozy at lunch.”

John was right. Politics were ridiculous. “You didn’t find it chilly?”

“No need to play coy. We all know what you’re doing.”

I know what she’s hinting at but I still say, “Oh?”

“I mean, it’s brilliant. Kind of wish I had thought of it. Who knew John went for the damsel-in-distress thing? My only question,” I know I’m not ready to hear it but I smile indulgently anyway, “Does he get off on the damsel-in-distress thing alone or does he need you to put out, too?”

I force my eyes not to roll. I wonder if everyone here is thinking along the same lines. Does Marcus think I’m sleeping with John? Probably, since he had caught us in bed. And I'm sure Winston does as well.

I can’t blame them for thinking it but the fact that so many of the others are concentrated on what John and I are doing when we aren’t training is ridiculous.

I don’t plan the next few words, but they still slip out, “it's actually balanced out John fucks me in the mornings, I fuck him at night.”

Her nostrils flare and I feel momentarily guilty at the expression of shock on Harry’s little face. I don’t apologize though, especially as I see John approaching, staring at me curiously. I don’t know how much of that he heard but judging by his smirk, I know it was probably more than I would like. 

“Is that what you did to get that score? Fuck some of the High Table, too?”

I watch as the smirk disappears and John's nostrils flare, but I shake my head so slightly and he slows, allowing me to deal with Perkins on my own.

“Actually, I recited poetry.” John looks taken aback but I hold eye contact with him as I say, “It was pretty gory, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh? And did you write it about your inevitable demise?”

“No, actually.” I let John approach. Perkins turns her head to see what I’m staring at and her face goes blank as I respond, “It’s about what I plan on doing to John’s ass.”

“Baby,” John says, wrapping an arm around my waist, “You’re supposed to leave that kind of talk for the bedroom.”

“I got plenty more for later,” I say, leaning into his embrace.

“Perkins.” He says with a soft nod.

She looks afraid. Good. “John.” She replies, “I thought you weren’t making a will.”

John shrugs a shoulder, “Anything can happen in the Games.”

Harry is called into one of the three rooms set up for these wills.

I glance up at John, “Is Winston pissed at me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great.”

John pushes my hair back behind my ear tenderly. “He’s just worried for you.”

“Oh please, he’s thought I was going to die since day one.”

“Regardless, he cares about you.”

I wasn’t sure if that was true but I let it go.

“Kingston.”

I left John’s embrace reluctantly and went into one of the rooms. The walls were lined with dark curtains and a stool was available for me to sit on. I took a seat and repositioned my hair.

“Do I just…”

The cameraman nodded. “You can start.”

“Uh, okay.” I look up at the camera and smile, “Hey, everyone. I guess, this is it. The Games start in about twenty-odd hours and… I know I probably won’t make it. The competition this year is insane. And I just got an 11, so I know a lot of people are going to be coming after me.

“Mom and Dad, I… I don’t know what to say. I love you both and I’m sad that I won’t get to see you again, even one last time.” I nod to myself, “I’ve learned a lot about myself this last week. What I’m capable of, how I’m going to live my last days and hours. You made me the kind of person who spent her last days enjoying the beauty in the world. You made me into a person that I am proud to be. I hope you have no regrets. Because I don’t

“Daisy,” I breathe, “Sweet, Daisy. I'm sorry that I won’t get to see you grow up. It has been an honor to be your sister and to watch you grow. I want you to remember that doing this… this was my choice. Not yours, not the Capitol’s. I’m going into the Games still me.” I scratch the back of my neck, “I know watching this isn’t going to be easy, but I want you to know I am proud of you. And the person you will become. Be strong, be kind, be true. And, I’ll be seeing you. Not too soon though.” I breathe out again, a steady stream even as I try to not let the tears come to my eyes, “I love you.

“John.” I look to the bracelet on my wrist and spin it around, then back to the camera, “I’m sorry I can’t be there for you. And I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. But I love you. You are… ridiculous and over the top and the biggest drama queen I’ve ever met.” I laugh, “You have been everything to me, since that first night on the roof. You made my final days on this Earth pretty damn special. And I know, I know that you are going to win this. You are going to come out victorious and I need you to know, whatever happens in the Games, I love and forgive you. I’ve made my peace, find yours.” I feel my lip tremble but I hold steady, “I will always remain your best friend.” I offer a smile at the camera and swallow down the lump in my throat.

I look to the man holding the camera, “Is, is that it?”

“Yeah.” He says. I don’t envy him his job.

I left the room and went back into the hall. John wasn’t there, probably recording his own video.

“Miss Kingston?” One of the Capitol assistants says, “I’m here to get you ready for the interviews?”

“Already?” I ask.

“Between costume and makeup, it will take quite a while.”

I resist a groan and follow.

This is not how I wanted to spend my last day on Earth.


	8. Interviews and Aftermath

They actually did a lovely job. My dress is white and sleeveless, extending nearly to my ankles. It is layered with lace at the bottom and belted with a yellow sash. My hair is pinned up in soft waves and a crown of daisies and dandelions rest on top.

The accommodations for the interviews is much nicer than the ones from the night before. It is a lounge filled with couches and chairs and several TVs with which to watch each interview.

John is already there when I arrive. He lounges in an attractive three-piece suit with a black shirt. He looks every bit the dark angel. His beard had been neatly trimmed and his hair falls as it usually does. It appears he didn't let them touch his dark locks.

He stands as I walk in and I approach his couch. John looks me over with a small smile. He holds out a hand and I take it but he just stares at me.

“What are you doing, John?” I ask with a small smile.

“Looking at you.”

We’re not alone. But time is against us and I don’t care. “Come here.”

He steps forward and I reach up to bring his head down. His lips meet mine briefly, but it’s enough to calm my nerves before the interviews.

John kisses my forehead and sits down, pulling me with him. I rest my head on his shoulder as we sit side by side, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. 

“What time is it?” I ask quietly.

“Nearly five.”

Seventeen hours.

I tried not to think about that, instead choosing to relax next to John.

Marcus entered with Charon. I give him a small finger wave and the two come sit by us.

“Ready?” Marcus asks me.

“Figure I can’t fuck up too much in three minutes.” I shrug my free shoulder, “But we’ll see.”

“You’ll do just fine,” John tells me with another kiss to my head. 

Easy for him to say.

The order has changed for this. Each of the female tributes will be preceding the male. Perkins is called first, wearing a black feathered gown. Her hair was pushed back and lifted up. The dark makeup on her eyes made her look a bit more threatening than she did at first glance.

Her name is called and she reappears on the tv screen, waving and smiling at the crowd.

“Lise Perkins,” the host, Berrada, says with a happy smile, “seventeen-year-old volunteer tribute from District 1. How are you feeling the night before the games begin?”

“I’m just enjoying myself with all the wonderful things the Capitol has to offer. I’m not too worried about tomorrow.”

“Then you’re feeling confident?”

“My head is in the game, Berrada. That’s more than can be said for some of my opponents.”

I glance up at John. He doesn’t seem phased though I’m sure he recognizes that it was directed to him. I look back at the screen.

“Are there any opponents you’re wary of?”

“There are always things that can happen. I know that there is a history, within the Games, of curveballs being thrown by the Gamemakers to keep things interesting. But my opponents themselves?” She bobs her head, “Well, let’s just say that if I’ve learned anything from my time in training, it’s that everyone has a weakness.”

Marcus exchanges a look with John. John shakes his head in response and I feel his arm tighten around me ever so slightly as if John us reminding himself that I'm still here. I set my hand on his thigh and give a gentle squeeze. 

I wish we were alone so I could talk to him.

"Mr. Wick? Thirty seconds sir."

John nods and I release his thigh as he stands up and follows the attendant towards the door to the audience and Berrada.

"And, Ms. Perkins, is there anything else you'd like the people back home to know?"

"Just to prepare. It's going to be a fun hunt."

"Lise Perkins, everyone!" I hear the clapping through the walls and watch as she walks off stage, "Up next, we have another volunteer from District 1, Mr. Jonathan Wick!"

John walks onto the stage looking as collected and focused as ever. He took the seat vacated by Perkins.

"John Wick," says Berrada, "you have been the front runner since before the reaping and it seems little has changed. You still hold favored odds in most Districts and you did not disappoint your supporters today when you scored a perfect 12 today on your training."

John just nods along.

"What is your thought process right now?"

“Dinner in a few hours. Good night’s rest. Then killing anyone who gets in my way tomorrow.”

Oh, yeah. This was the John Wick that had the rest of the competition utterly terrified. This John was deadly and he knew it. In a matter of hours, this man would replace my John on the battlefield and I truly believed he would kill anyone who got in his way.

“And your plans for when the Games start?’

“I can’t really say until I know the layout of the Arena. Really, just hitting the Cornucopia as hard as I can as soon as I can.”

“But you don’t seem worried about any of that.”

“Not really, no.”

The host hums, “Well, I have to ask the question that I know is on the minds of just about everyone in Panem: has your position on alliances changed during this week of training?”

John smirks with a shake of his head, “My position on alliances was, and is, that they cannot work without a common end goal. Surviving until tomorrow doesn’t count when all the parties involved are just biding their time to kill each other off. I think it is very difficult, but not impossible, to have during the Hunger Games.”

“But you know what I’m getting at.”

I shook my head at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Do I?” Asks John, though his consistent smirk said it all.

“Helen Kingston,” Berrada says simply.

John blinks, "is that a question?"

"God, he's an ass," I say shaking my head.

"Thank god," Marcus says, and I look over at my district partner. "I was starting to think you were totally oblivious to the fact that guy is a dick.”

I flip him off and look back to the television.

“Can you tell me about her?”

“Remarkable woman.”

I smile softly.

“There’s been some controversy regarding you taking over her training. Some people feel that tributes should not be able to train each other as it gives the trainer an unfair advantage.”

“Well, I already have an unfair advantage.”

“Which is what many others agreed upon. Still, it came as a shock to most people watching to see the favored champion spending all their time training a last-minute volunteer from District 12. Why did you decide to help her?"

John shrugged, leaning back in his seat languidly. "Helen entered this competition, voluntarily, with no intention to win. And yet, despite knowing the odds are against her, has repeatedly faced each day leading up to the games with grace, humor, and raw strength. She has more courage than anyone else here."

Wow. I find myself biting my lip at his sincerity. Three minutes to talk to the world and this is how he talks about me. He brushed aside the personal questions with little care but this, he looks so serious.

"Do you think, with all your training, that she has a shot at winning the games?"

"With or without my training, anyone who is discounting Helen hasn't been paying attention."

"And judging by what you stated earlier, I take it the two of you have not aligned?"

"We haven't discussed it."

That surprised me. It wasn't the flat out no I had been expecting. It was an honest answer.

"Alright, John Wick. Any final words to the Panem?”

John shakes his head and the announcer forces a smile, “John Wick! Up next, we have the lovely Sof--”

John walks off stage as Sofia glides on, looking stunning in a gold and gemmed jumpsuit. I turn and look at the door as John comes back in looking completely unphased. I wonder if his heart rate increased at all being on camera in front of the entire population.

He comes back over and sits down next to me, his arm draping over my shoulders yet again. I close my eyes and lean into him.

I can practically feel the clock beating down upon us. 

The Bowery gives a loud and impressive interview, going as far as to get the audience to chant ‘Long live the King.’

Most of the stronger opponents give interviews like John’s-- they answer all questions quickly and succinctly. I kind of feel bad for Berrada, trying to interview a dozen deadly warriors all trained to hold their tongue lest reveal their hands. 

A few manage to stand out.

When Iosef saunters on stage, I feel John tense. I nestle against him. "All talk." I remind him and he nods, pressing a kiss to my head.

As the youngest volunteer tribute, Berrada praised him for his ambition. Iosef was quick to accept the praise.

"You know. Berrada, I think so many people put off volunteering for the Games because they think, oh, maybe next year I'll be stronger. More prepared. They just put it off until they age out and it's a damn shame."

"Is there nothing to be said for experience?"

Iosef shook his head. "Even the most experienced players here have weaknesses."

He was at least the third player to make a shoutout regarding the weaknesses of others. John hadn't said anything and I made a conscious choice not to bring it up. 

I knew Iosef was psychotic but it still worried me that so many people saw me as leverage against John. But it was hard for even me to deny when I was wrapped up against him. At least I knew that whoever killed me wouldn't survive John's wrath. Even on opposite ends of the Arena, he would avenge me.

I just hoped John could find comfort in not having to be the one to kill me.

"But seriously, Berrada, the competition this year is nothing special." I blinked up at the screen. Seriously? The kid was nuts, "I could already tell you right now who won't survive the Cornucopia."

Luckily, Berrada changed the subject quickly and moved on to the next guest.

Gianna D'Antonio gave a compelling speech rallying for support from her district. Her brother followed. Santino praised his sister's efforts but added, "I can't help but wonder what I might accomplish as your champion."

I couldn't imagine what it must be like to willingly compete with your sibling, knowing at all times that at least one of you will die. Gianna barely mentioned her brother was in the Games but Santino was constantly playing up the pain of knowing she would die. Despite his pleas, Santino didn't seem to care much about what happened to Gianna other than a casual mention, "I just hope it is not me who has to kill her."

John leans down slightly and whispers in my ear, "Santino is charismatic but that's about all he has going for him. Easily distractible. He's the one person here I recommend going for the groin to drop, then take him out."

I nod, repeating the words in my head.

The remaining contestants race by and I am suddenly on deck.

John squeezes my hand, "you're already a favorite. You're the underdog people want to root for. Play up the sweet and if they ask you anything you don't know or don't want to answer, play coy."

Fuck me.

"Kingston!"

My heart is racing as I stand. John has yet to let go of my hand, holding it as I walk around him until he has to release me.

I follow the attendant to the stage and wait as Francis wraps up his awkward interview.

I hear my name and the attendant nods for me to go meet the host. I take a deep breath and walk out into the lights.

It's a miracle that my feet carry me to my chair and I take a seat next to Berrada.

"Helen Kingston, you have caused quite the stir this last week. From your last-minute choice to volunteer to your unlikely friendship with John Wick, your name just keeps coming up. Tell me, before your sister's name, was called, had you ever considered volunteering and competing?"

"Oh, no. It wouldn't have even occurred to me to volunteer had circumstances not lined up as they did."

"So compared to many of your opponents you're unprepared?"

"I definitely feel like I was thrown in over my head."

"And you allowed John Wick to take over your training. Did that not worry you? He is the competition."

I give a soft smile, "I don't think John views me as competition."

"He did warn spectators not to count you out. Do you think you have a chance to win?"

"Honestly?" I give a small shrug. I wonder how Daisy feels watching this. If she still has hope I'm coming home to her. It seems cruel to give her hope. "I have made my peace with the fact I will probably not survive this."

"So you disagree with John Wick?"

"Oh, constantly." The audience laughs, "in all seriousness, though, what John said was not to count me out. I have no intention of going down quietly but I think the odds of me surviving are slim to none."

He clearly was uncomfortable with a tribute so comfortable with their own death. This was the Hunger Games. They preached strength and ability and that everyone has a chance. And here was I, ignoring and denying everything they stood for.

"So Mr. Wick's work was for nothing?"

He wasn't listening. 

I smiled sweetly, "I mean, John came here to win the Games. He knows I won't take it personally if he kills me."

The audience titters again.

“Still, you had an incredibly impressive training score. Eleven is nearly unheard of. Can you give us any clue what happened in there? Following John Wick’s perfect 12?”

“Well, I’m not allowed to discuss what actually happened at the demonstration. Let’s just say I have a way of getting people’s attention.”

I flash him a smile as the audience cheers.

“That you do, Miss Kingston. We are nearly out of time,” Berrada says with a smile, “Anything you want to say to anyone back home?”

I lick my lips, aware that Daisy and my family won’t see my goodbye until after the view my likely gruesome death.

“Just… know that I am at peace. With the situation, with myself. Know that I’m entering the Games with a full heart.”

“Helen Kingston!” Berrada shouts and the audience goes wild. I stand and make my way back inside. Marcus gives me a low high five in passing and I smile as I go into the bathroom.

John doesn’t look my way as I come in. I walk back to resume my seat beside him. As I sit, his arm comes up around me and I am pulled down to his side. His far arm reaches over and locks with the arm around me, leaving me trapped in his arms.

His face is blank, free from emotion but I can feel whatever is under the surface rising.

“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly so as not to alert anyone else in the room to his discomfort.

“Later.” He tells me and I let it go, instead choosing to wrap my arms around his middle and hug him. 

Thirteen hours.

I bite my lip to keep from making a sound as the realization dawns on me.

I cannot focus at all as Marcus completes his interview and Berrada concludes the segment.

After things have settled, an attendant instructs us to follow him upstairs for the banquet to commence. Our final dinner, our final evening. I wonder how many of us will be alive at this time tomorrow.

We are separated by districts and I find myself, once again, as far away from John as possible. Marcus offers me his arm as we wait outside the ballroom.

Announced district by district, we are the last to enter the lavish gala. Members of the High Table and the Gamemakers are already settled in, mingling with flutes of champagne. A variety of entertainers and politicians mingle amongst us while a man croons on stage.

The tributes are scattered about the room. Some speaking with society members, others picking at the buffet. John is off to the side with Winston and the Director as I walk in. He has a flute of champagne in his hand and he raises it gently when he sees me. The Director turns, frowning at the sight of me. She turns back, lips moving but she stalks away as Marcus and I approach.

I let go of Marcus’ arm as we join.

“This pomp is ridiculous.” I say shaking my head, “How long do we have to stay?”

“At least through dinner,” Winston said it, with a pointed look in my direction. “You two come from a poor district. You can’t expect much sponsorship from back home. You can from in here.”

I glance around at the Gamemakers. “I literally threw a knife at them yesterday. You really think I have a shot at getting any sponsorship?”

“They gave you an eleven.” John reminds me, hand settling around me yet again.

“Yeah, to make me a target.”

“It will make you a more desirable takedown but it’ll get you sponsorship, too.”

“Which will be great if I survive the bloodbath.”

“You will,” John says.

I don’t argue. I don’t want to spend the last hours arguing. 

“Just eat.” Says Winston, “Let them observe you. You’re an enigma to them-- the sweet, innocent volunteer with no chance of winning. Mentored by John Wick and then somehow scores an eleven in the training, while still maintaining that same humble attitude you came in with. You’re the underdog they want to win.”

“How am I the underdog when Harry and Addy are literally twelve and thirteen. Plus, they were reaped. I’m technically a volunteer.”

John shakes his head, “It works towards your favor. Harry and Addy are forgettable. They’re fodder.” I open my mouth to protest, “It’s not fair,” John placates, “But it’s how they’re seen.”

“Besides, they’re children. You’re a grown woman. You’re attractive. Wick’s interest in you has made you seem desirable to the Capitol.”

“This is so fucked.” 

“Completely. Welcome to the Hunger Games.” Winston offers me a sad smile, “Stay for an hour, at least. They go all out for the food.”

John’s arm slips from my waist and he holds out his hand to me. “Come dance with me.”

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“Perfect.” Says Winston with a nod, “Play that up. The sweet girl thrown to the wolves, just trying to get by.”

“Winston, I’m not wasting my last hours pretending to be something I’m not.”

“Exactly. Say bullshit like that.”

John slips his hand into mine, “Come on.” he tells me and I follow, if only to escape from Winston’s advice. He leads me to the open dance floor in front of the band.

“John,” I say quiet enough that only he can hear me, “I’m serious. I don’t know how.”

He throws me that devilishly charming smirk, “Trust me?”

I shouldn’t.

“Yes.”

He turns so he is stepping backward. He easily lifts my hand to rest on his shoulder and brings his arm down to wrap around my waist again. His other hand catches mine.

“Just focus on me. Like in training. No one else. Just us.”

I step with him and he guides me with little taps and nods. Like everything else, he’s amazing at what he does and teaches it so damn well. I wonder, idly, if there’s anything he’s bad at. But if there is, I don’t want to know. Not now.

I feel the tick of the clock with every beat of the drums. Winston asks for at least an hour of this schmoozing, of being present and making an appearance. I don’t think I’ll get many sponsors and frankly, I don’t care. I have a guaranteed twelve hours and change left in this world. I don’t want to spend it in front of all these watchful gazes. 

I rest my head against John’s chest and close my eyes. Our steps slow so that we are just swaying, side to side. I feel him rest his chin on my head and I wish that we were anywhere else.

I’m surprised that Winston is encouraging this. I take comfort from John but surely it can’t be good for either of us. It won’t make a difference for John though. I smile softly. He’ll kick ass with or without sponsors, and honestly, with a perfect 12, there was little he could do to lose sponsors.

Time slips by, song by song. I don’t lift my head from his chest.

More people are on the dance floor than just us. I can hear heels clicking along the wood floor.

“What are you going to do?” I ask him, “When you win?”

He tenses again, under my touch, “And what makes you so sure I’ll win?”

I give a soft laugh, “Have you met you?”

I don’t have to look up to know exactly which smile is now gracing his lips. It’s the soft one, the one he reserves for the moments when we’re alone when he shakes his head and rolls his eyes not unkindly. “Have you met you?”

“Once.” I quip, leaning back to look at him. “But come on, what are you going to do?”

“Can we just pretend tomorrow isn’t going to come?” He runs his hand down my hair.

“Just us?”

“Just us. No tomorrow, no Capitol.”

I nod, “Okay.”

He bends down and presses a kiss to my forehead. 

“Can I buy you dinner?” He asks and I laugh. 

“Yeah, I could eat.”

We stop swaying entirely and walk over to the buffet table. There will be food in the morning but for all intents and purposes, this is our last meal. The Capitol has, indeed, gone all out. There are soups and stews and fish and game, likely from all over Panem. I’m actually a little proud when John doesn’t go straight for the salad.

I know he knows what I’m thinking and he shoots me a smirk. 

Ass. 

I help myself to a few things though, admittedly, I’m not very hungry. I know I need to eat though.

There’s an empty table towards the very back and I slip through the other, more crowded tables, to get to it. John takes the seat next to me.

“You never eat much.” John comments.

“Food at all is hard to come by back home. I can’t help but feel guilty here. There’s enough at that table,” I point back to where we have come from, “to feed my town for the better part of a week.”

“And you probably never ate your fair share when you had the opportunity.”

I send him a playful glare over a forkful of fish. “I had enough.”

“And Daisy had more? And your parents and friends? Even total strangers, right?”

I flush at his accuracy.

“It wasn’t even a second thought to volunteer. It was inevitable, the second her name was called.”

He’s watching me with something akin to awe. I look down, “I thought we weren’t talking about this tonight.”

“I know. You just…” He shakes his head, “People like you don’t exist.”

“People like me?”

“People who care.” He stabs a piece of steak with his fork. “I’m not sure what the world would be without you.”

“It’ll go on turning.”

John shakes his head again and I don’t know what to say to him to make it better.

I place my hand on his thigh and continue eating. Is he as weighed down by tomorrow as I am? I eat, but my heart hurts. The peace I had once made now ricochets inside me. I cannot catch it. I’m not sure if I could hold onto it if I did. 

Daisy will be safe. And I will always be grateful for that.

But John will be alone. And there is nothing I can do about it except hope that he finds someone who will care for him as much as I do. Even the thought turns my stomach. He is mine and we both know it. 

I manage a few more bites of the rice. I wonder if this is killing John as much as it is me.

I finish the fish and try not to imagine what my mother would say if she could see me pushing food around my plate rather than eating it.

“Hello,” I look up to find two Capitol women smiling down at us, “May we join you?”

I force a smile, “Of course.”

John’s arm goes along the back of my chair and he leans back, observing the newcomers as if he’s analyzing them for weakness. He probably is.

I wonder what he saw in me that first day.

“So, what’s this, then?” The smaller of the two gestures between us. I try not to be distracted by her sky blue hair or the silver and ebony bird clips resting in the giant nest.

“What’s what?” I ask.

I can almost feel John roll his eyes but I know he resists given the timeline we’re on.

“You two were awful cozy on the dance floor. Are you two, you know…”

They don’t seem to be insinuating what Perkins and Iosef had been. They seem less suggestful and more curious regarding the goings-on. I’m thankful for small favors.

I look up at John and give him a challenging smile, “Describe our relationship, Mr. Wick."

John sits back, hand still resting on my shoulder, and gazes at me for a moment in thought. “Obsessive… and doomed adoration.”

My heart simultaneously soars and breaks. Tick tock, Mr. Wick.

I love him so much and it is not enough. It can never be enough when tomorrow we have no choice but to be opponents.

We stare at each other, both completely still. I want to close the distance. I need to feel his lips on mine before the world spirals out of control.

There is something new in his eyes. Something I haven’t seen and I’m not sure I recognize. And then it hits me as I resist the urge to wrap my arms around him. Peace. There is calm in his gaze. 

I don’t know what has changed and now is not the place to ask. But John looks so at peace staring into my like he can see my soul.

“That’s beautiful.” One of the women say and I can't even bring myself to look away from him.

“Your turn.” John tells me softly and there is so much I can say. 

I will not tell him I love him. Not here, not now, in front of these two random women from the Capitol.

“In a different world,” I say, completely captivated by his dark eyes, “You could have been my everything.”

But here we are. In this world, where time is against us. 

“Oh!” The ladies sigh together but I don’t look away. 

Maybe there’s a world without the Games. Maybe somewhere, in some place, we were able to find each other and build a life. Maybe we were able to get married. Have kids maybe. At least a dog, maybe two. I hope that Helen and John lived a beautiful life. I hoped it was long and good and everything that John and I couldn’t have now.

I’m not sure if the hour has passed but I can’t wait any longer.

“Can you excuse us?” I ask the ladies, not looking at them as I take his hand and I stand. He follows silently and we weave our way back to the door. I don’t know if anyone has noticed us leaving. They probably have. And I don’t care.

I push through the door and into the lobby. The elevator dings as soon as I touch the button and the doors open. I step in and turn to face John but I am quickly pushed into the corner. He reaches out and slams the button for the doors to shut and the button for the eighth floor.

As the door shuts, his mouth descends on mine and my arms tangle around him. The clock is racing and so are we. His hands drift to my hips and he lifts me, effortlessly, into the air. My legs wrap around his waist and I hold him to me. He sucks my tongue into his mouth his lips glide down before his wet lips press back against mine.

“John,” I whisper, tightening my legs.

“I know.” The elevator door opens but John doesn’t put me down. Instead, I hold steady as he takes long strides down the hall. “Brace.” 

I put my hands on his shoulders and stay fast as he lets go of his grip on me to find his room key. He kisses my neck once and swipes my keycard to let us in. The door gives way and we stumble into the room.

He kicks it closed and I am against another wall. John keeps kissing me and I reach between us, loosening his tie enough that I can pull it over his head. John spins us and we move further into the room. My fingers tackle the buttons of his shirt, popping them open while he presses kisses down my jaw and over my face. 

John loosens his grip on me again and I fall back onto one of the soft beds of the Capitol. He pushes his jacket off and tears off the cuff links of his shirt, stripping it from himself before his climbs on top of me.

My hands skim his bare chest, reaching around to wrap around his back. I inhale deeply at his neck, placing kisses along his shoulder and nipping at his collarbone.

He growls, his free hand trailing down my side, over my hip, and down my thigh. 

“Just us,” John whispers, his fingers grasping the skirt of the dress and gently bringing it up.

“Just us,” I repeat, a hand reaching out to push back his hair. “No tomorrow.”

“No tomorrow.” He agrees and his mouth descends slowly, gently kissing me softly. The clock is going somewhere, counting down. But not for us. 

The hem of the dress slides up my thigh, slowing as it approaches my torso. 

I press my heels into the bed, lifting my hips in silent permission. John kisses my lips, my chin, and crawls down my body. He presses a kiss to my tummy as it is bared and traces a lineup.

The thought strikes me again: no one else in the world knows that John is capable of being this gentle.

I push up to a seated position and raise my arms, helping him push the dress off of me completely. He tosses it aside and cups my cheeks, kissing me soundly. I reach down between us, blindly reaching for his belt. John smiles against me as I fiddle with the clasp but am able to free it. I rip it loose of the belt loops and John pulls me up onto his lap as I open the button of his slacks.

I wonder if I should be nervous. I’m not.

I guess, in the grand scheme of dying tomorrow, this isn’t that big a deal.

John peppers my face with kisses, his arms around me. My bra is off and I am lowered to the bed as his attention moves to my breasts. I suck in a breath as his tongue laves at one nipple and his fingers tease another.

My hand tangles in his hair, desperate to hold him to me, as the other rakes down his back. He growls and nips at my flesh. I feel my hips roll against him of their own volition.

John’s mouth smirks against me and he grinds into me. A moan escapes and he just teases me more.

“John,” I whisper, my hand trailing down his body, “I need you.”

I feel his breath exhale as he kisses each of my breasts and another between my ribs. His beard tickles in all right ways.

He keeps going down, pressing kisses across my tummy and waist. His fingers curl into my underwear and they're removed. I'm completely exposed to him and I bite my lip.

His gaze is fire and he pushes himself further down the bed, positioning himself between my legs. He kisses the inside of my thigh and I resist the need to jump. I didn't know I could feel so sensitive.

John grins and moves higher, sucking my skin gently. The scratch of his beard has me writhing and he hasn't even touched me.

His eyes are so fucking smug but I don't even care. 

In an instant, John has his mouth on me., his tongue circling my clit as I grasp the sheets beneath me. His hands are on my hips, holding me to the bed as he tortures me with every lick. I moan and arch my head back as he fucks me with his tongue. I force myself to look back, to see him while I still can. My wetness coats his beard and I whine.

“John, please.” I gasp, “I need you inside me. Can’t wait.”

“Soon baby.” He promises but does not move. Instead, he sucks at my lips and nips at my clit gently. He preys on me like I was his last meal and, damn it all, I likely was.

“Now!” I beg.

John removes a hand from my hip and I watch it as it trails down my thigh and teases at my opening. “Gotta get you ready.” He puts his index finger inside me I grind against him hard. “So fucking wet for me.”

“I’m ready.”

“You will be.” Another finger slips inside and he curls them forward. 

“Fuck!”

“Such a dirty mouth.” He licks at my clit, his fingers slowly working their way in and out of me. He feels so good but I want him here, laying against me and kissing me senseless.

He works me with two fingers, relentlessly. My head falls back and I thrust against him repeatedly. John’s tongue continues to tease me. His free hand reaches up and tweaks my nipple and I feel my whole body jolt. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Another finger slips inside me and I cry out.

He doesn’t stop.

“Come on, baby.” He tells me, one hand groping at my flesh, the other fucking me hard. “I can feel you. Know you’re close. Come for me.”

His fingers stroke my inside while his tongue sucks on my clit and I am undone.

I come on his fingers, panting and delirious. The world is dimmer and brighter and he keeps licking me while my body convulses around him.

John slides off the bed and pushes down at his pants. His cock springs loose and I’m suddenly grateful for the extra time he has spent making sure I’m ready. He’s longer than I was expecting but his girth has my pussy clench without control. 

John climbs back on top of me and wraps his arms around me. His mouth descends on mine and I kiss him hard, my hands exploring his body. 

Before I can register what has happened, John flips us so that he is lying beneath me.

I look down at him in surprise.

“Gonna let you have control.” He says, reaching up and stroking my face, “Let you set the pace.”

I bite my lip, not sure how to feel about taking control from him. But I’m not, not really. John could turn this around in an instant but he’s showing me, he’s proving to me that he cares about my needs first.

I nod, pushing up on his chest so that I am hunched over him.

I reach down between us and grasp his cock. It’s warm and thick and so fucking hard. I run my hand along the length, circle my finger over the head.

I adjust my body and hold his cock upright. 

John is watching me and it makes me nervous but damn if his hungry gaze doesn’t soak me all the more. I let my pussy glide along the top of his cock, coating him in me.

John growls and I understand, because I can’t wait any longer either.

I set him against me and sink onto him slowly.

Three fingers had prepared me but he still stretches me open. I bite down on my lip as I fall, inch by inch, onto him. I can tell that he is gritting his teeth, desperate to thrust up into me but he doesn’t. He lets me keep this control.

I lean forward onto him, claiming his lips in a harsh kiss as his arms circle around me. I move my hips against him, rocking carefully. His cock inside me alone is almost enough to make me come again. I feel myself clench against him and his fingers dig into my back.

I nip at his lips, still moving against him. 

I can’t stop now.

It feels so good, he feels so good inside me and I never want to let this go. 

We move together and he kisses me, throwing all of the could be's and should be's into the kiss. I think back to what I say at the table, the words echoing in my mind. 

_ In another world, you could have been my everything. _

I was wrong.

It didn’t matter what world we were in. He already was. 

John and Daisy were the only ones who mattered. And as long as they were okay, the rest of the world could burn.

“Fuck, baby.” John croons in my ear, “So fucking beautiful riding my cock.”

I clench against him again.

He groans. “Yes, Helen. Just like that.”

John meets me thrust for thrust and I soon feel my body moving faster and faster, gaining desperation and sensitivity as I start to come again. I bury my head in his neck, sucking at his skin, knowing that I would surely leave a mark but not giving a damn.

Let the world see what they already suspect.

John Wick is mine.

I clench harsh around him and I feel his hips thrust erratically. He groans my name and I feel him spill inside me. My hips keep rolling in circles, even as my body starts to come down from the high.

John holds me to him, his breath still coming in pants. I feel his lips press against my temple and I clench my eyes shut. No matter how many times we say it’s only tonight, no tomorrow on the horizon, I can’t stop my mind from reminding me that after tonight, I won’t be able to hold him. We’ll be enemies.

I turn my head towards him, opening my eyes. He’s watching me.

“You feeling okay?” He asks and I fight the urge to laugh.

“Yeah,” I crane my neck up to kiss his lips softly, “Pretty damn great.”

He kisses me again and pushes the loose tendrils of hair back from my face. He takes my hand in his and I’m sure he can feel me shaking as reality hits. There is so little time left.

I want to cry but I hold back the tears. I can’t waste them when there is so little time. 

“I know.” He whispers to me and I fight my trembling lips.

John rolls me to my back and kisses me. I wonder if he senses just how much I need him right now.

Kisses are peppered along my face.

“No tomorrow.” He tells me again. I nod frantically as John wipes away the tear that has escaped me with his thumb. “Just us.”

My hands roam around his chest as John kisses me deeply. 

For now, I’ll just pretend.

There is no tomorrow. 

There is just us.


	9. Si Vis Pacem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 1  
> Part 2 coming soon!

“Helen.”

I purse my face as I’m awakened from sleep, a moan escaping my mouth. “Ehh.”

There’s a soft laugh to my side and I open my eyes. I’m draped across John’s chest, our legs tangled together under the covers. He looks wide awake, ready for what the day will bring.

I’m grateful, I suppose, that he insisted I go to sleep when he did. I’m exhausted even now. He had pushed me to rest after the third time he fucked me.

“Come on, Helen.”

I groan and bury my face into his chest. I feel a kiss on my hair.

Suddenly, I feel my body being moved as John sits up and turns me so that I’m sitting across his lap. “Time to get up.” He tells me.

I open my eyes and look up at him. “It’s time?”

He nods. “It’s time.”

The moment is over. It’s tomorrow and it’s no longer just us. Soon we’ll be forced to fight to the death.

I push myself off his lap until I’m standing, feet on the floor. The clock on the bedside table says it’s 6 am. We leave at 8 am sharp to drive to the arena, which gives us about an hour to shower and have breakfast before we need to go meet our stylists downstairs to change for the games.

“What do you want for breakfast?” He asks.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, Helen.”

Do I? Will it really make a difference?

“Surprise me,” I tell him. I try to push back my hair but its a tangled mess. 

I pick up my dress off the floor and walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

My hair is a mess, the flower crown falling to pieces. I look in the mirror at the tangled mess. My stylist is going to have a tough time working it out. John has a comb on the counter but I'm not sure that it's enough. My eyes trail down in the mirror.

My body had been marked by John. A dozen bruises cover my neck and shoulders. My breasts and thighs are peppered with purple marks and I shake my head.

Possessive bastard. 

There is a knock at the front door but I ignore it, choosing instead to wash my face. I should shower. I may never again but I don't care. The dried sweat on my body is mixed with his, I still feel his essence on my thighs.

I cannot bring myself to wash him away.

Not when there is so little time left.

"Is she here?" Winston's voice carries over to me. 

"Bathroom."

The door closes and I dry my face with a towel.

"Did you go over the plan with her?"

"Didn't come up."

There's silence. What plan? Why is Winston talking to John about a plan?

"You left early. You had all night."

"We were busy."

More silence. I slip the dress over my head and tug it down my body.

"I think this takes priority over sex, Jonathan."

"I'm going to tell her."

"You have less than four hours."

"I know. Is it too much to ask for one night not focused on the games?"

"It is when her life is on the line. Are you still serious about..."

“You damn well know I am.”

I open the door, "what's going on?"

They exchange a look. "Do you want me here for this?" Winston asks.

John shakes his head. Winston glanced at his watch. "You got forty minutes to get her fed and downstairs."

He looks at me and shakes his head before leaving us alone again.

I look at John. He’s shirtless, standing in a pair of sweatpants. He may have left me covered in marks but I left a few bruises of my own. If I weren’t so worried, I would smile.

“Why was Winston here?”

John motions me over to the window where his own set of chairs sit at a small table. I take a seat and wait, unsure of what to expect.

John takes a breath and looks at me, “Do you trust me?’

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. I don’t need to anymore. 

“I have a plan.”

I blink, “What kind of a plan?”

John’s reaches across the table and strokes my face, temple to jaw, staring at me with pure adoration and that newfound peace I had observed at dinner. “You’re going to win the Hunger Games.”

Whatever I was expecting… it was not that.

“What?” I ask, leaning back to get a better look at him.

“I’m going to keep you alive through the games. You’re going to win.”

“John, we can’t both--”

“I know.” He cuts me off.

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

“John--” I shake my head frantically.

John slides off of his chair and onto the floor, kneeling before me. “Yes.” his hands reach up and cup my face, “I’m going to get you through. Send you home to Daisy.”

My heart stuttered. Daisy. 

But I shook my head, “I made my choice when I came here.”

“And I made mine when I met you.” He offers me a smile, “I can’t go on in this world without you, Helen. Don’t ask me to.”

“You can, John. You have to.”

“I don’t.”

“You can win this.”

“I know. But without you by my side, what would be the point?”

“To live, John. To survive!”

He shakes his head, his thumb brushing over my lips as the panic rises within me. “The world needs you, Helen. It needs your goodness. It doesn’t need just another killer doing a victory lap along Panem. It needs someone strong. And kind. And you. Someone who can show everyone that the games exist only to divide us."

My breath is coming in pants now and I feel myself begin to hyperventilate. I try to shake my head but John holds me steady.

“It’s going to be okay, Hel. I’m not afraid to die.”

“I can’t-- John, I can’t-- need you. Cant-- without you.”

“You can. You’ll have your family. And your family will have you. Daisy will have you.”

“No!” I shout, grabbing his shoulders, “No-- I can’t-- I can’t-- I won’t-- kill you.”

“We don’t have to worry about that right now.”

I stare at him incredulously.

“John!”

“We don’t. We’ll have days, maybe a week left together if we can drag this out. We can figure out the details later.”

“I can’t--” 

“You can. I’ll tell you how. Quick and painless.”

“No!”

“Look at me.” He stares me in the eyes, “Helen, look at me.”

I do, my lips quivering. 

“I’m not afraid to die.”

I shake my head, “Can’t lose you, John. Can’t kill you.’

“We have time.” He tells me, “But you’re going to be just fine without me. You’re going to be strong.”

“How?”

“For Daisy.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “For me.”

My breathing has slowed but I still choke on a sob, “And how-- how do you expect me to be okay with this?”

“I know it’s going to hurt.” He moves a hand to my heart and I clutch the hand to myself. “But you can do this. You're the only one who can do this. You're going to show everyone that the Capitol doesn't get to control us."

"I--" it's too much.

John's arms come around me and he wraps me up in him. I recognize the shock flowing through me but it does nothing to stop my body from shaking.

He kisses my head and whispers to me soothingly.

He can do it. I have no doubt that he can get me through it but I am not ready. I'm not ready to say goodbye. I'm not ready to face the world without him.

John holds me and I know he is hurting too. There is no good answer. There is no good solution.

There's a knock at the door and John swears.

"It's okay," I say, wiping the tears from my face and crawling from his lap and back up onto the chair. My heart is pounding as John gets up and walks to the door.

It's only room service. John wheels the tray in and brings me a plate of eggs, toast, and fruit.

"Please eat." He whispers, setting it down in front of me. I stab the eggs with my fork and try to ignore how my stomach turns as John sits down across with a similar plate.

I swallow a bite of eggs. "Is this your plan or Winston's?"

"Mine. Winston was all for it- he wants you or Marcus to succeed and you're the obvious choice."

"How? Marcus is much better--"

"Marcus is above average but he is not exceptional. Marcus knows you have a better chance at winning."

"Marcus is in on this too? When did this all happen, John?"

He reaches across the table and takes my hand, stroking it with his thumb. "The night of the trials. After everything with Iosef, after I left you, I went and found Winston. Marcus is going to still try and win, but he says he'll leave us be until we're down to just us. I don't think he'll make it to the final three."

I nibble at the toast. I… I still am shocked and scared. I would have expected to feel happiness or at least hope that I would survive. I feel none of it. How can any of this be okay?

"Why, John?" 

"Why what?"

"Why are you suddenly willing to give up the thing you have been working towards for years. The wealth, the power, the prestige. All of it. Why?"

There is silence between us. He pushes away from the table and is on his feet, not looking at me.

“Why, John?”

"You know why."

I shake my head, "that isn't enough."

"Can you hear it?" John asks harshly. I almost jump at the change of tone, "can you stand to?"

I push away what's left of my breakfast and stand up. “You think I can’t?”

“I think,” He takes a step toward me, “That hearing it will make it harder for you when it’s time.”

“Maybe. But that isn’t a decision you get to make for me.”

“Well, maybe it should be since you decided before you got here that you weren’t going to survive!”

I shake my head. “If you won't, I will."

"What will it change?" 

Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. 

"I love you, John." He is still, unmoving at my words, "I love you, and I will be damned if either of us leaves this world without saying it!"

We have so little time.

I feel my body tremble and then his hands are in my hair, each fist grasping at as much as he could take. He bends down and our mouths smash together.

There is no time for soft and sweet and gentle. We had exhausted that last night. 

I push his shirt up and he lets go of my head long enough to toss it over his head before doing the same to my dress. So fucking little time.

His pants are gone and his hands are at my hips. John lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me back until we hit the wall. My hands rake at his shoulders and back and he growls as his mouth descends on my neck.

“Say it.”

He continues the path of his tongue, sucking at every inch of unmarked skin. His teeth graze my throat and my head falls back as I jolt against him. He holds me in one arm, pressing me to the wall, as the other reaches between us to adjust his cock. I’m already soaked.

I wrap a hand in his hair and pull him off my neck.

“Fucking say it, John!” I say as he slips inside me. “Say it!”

His hips thrust up and he is completely inside me. I bite my lip to keep from screaming out. 

“I love you.” He says and I shudder, a moan escaping from me. I roll my hips into him, again and again.

I nod, meeting him thrust for thrust. “I love you. I love you.”

His hands dig into my ass as he quickens his pace. 

So fucking little time left.

“I love you,” he tells me again, and we move together. He feels so good inside of me. I feel my toes curl as I feel myself on the edge. “I love you.”

“I love you,” I say again, craning my head to kiss him yet again.

This is my person. This is the man that I love. The one I would choose to have by my side if fate had been kinder to us. But with the clock counting down, we have minutes left before we have to get downstairs.

But right now, it's still us. 

He reaches down between us and gently fingers my clit. I feel my body jump as I scream out, “Fuck!”

He does not ease his approach. He continues his minstruations and I feel my eyes close as I am pushed over.

“John!” I cry out, my legs tightening around him, my face burrowing into his shoulder yet again. 

“I love you.” He tells me, his thrusts slowing but losing no depth. 

We pant together and John kisses my lips. 

“I love you.”

John presses his forehead to mine, “And I love you.”

.

We rush to get dressed and hurry downstairs. Winston shakes his head at us as we each arrive, carrying part of our breakfast with us. Immediately, we are pulled in different directions by our stylists.

They did not choose the outfit as the Hunger Games uniform rarely changed year to year. I was searched to make sure I had nothing on my person other than my token and dressed in the new outfit.

Winston is waiting for me outside the dressing room.

"How do you feel?" He asks me, as sympathetic as I have ever heard him.

“I don't know."

Winston nods. "Are you frightened?"

"I'm confused. I thought you didn't trust John."

Winston shrugged, "Anyone with eyes can see how that boy feels about you. District 1 or not, he is the only shot at you or Marcus bringing home the victory." He looks at me, a small frown on his face. "I feel I should apologize. I did not expect much from you. I thought you were too soft and I didn't understand that your kindness is what gives you your edge."

"My edge?"

Winston nods, "you are kind in a world that is not. Fair in a world that is cruel. My mistake was to see it as a weakness rather than a rebellion. It took Wick's interview for me to fully understand it. You have not let this world corrupt you."

"So John plays god and suddenly I'm left alive. What does that show the Capitol?"

"Everything. You show them that you cannot be controlled and that even in all of this," he gestures vaguely.

"They can't control us? John wants to die now."

"He doesn't want to die, Helen. He wants you to live. He wants the world to see that you mean more to him than winning. That love can still flourish and the Games don't control our hearts."

I nod, my heart aching at the thought of losing John. "Do you think it will be enough?"

"I think that you are about to take the Capitol by storm."

I shiver, my hand at my bracelet. This is insanity. 

Marcus puts a hand on my shoulder. "It will be alright "

"It won't, though."

We reach the lobby and John is waiting at the door. He nods to Winston and looks back at me, running his hand along my braid. "You should spin this into a bun so it's harder to grab."

"Missed you too, asshole."

John smiles, winds my braid around his hand, and brings me in for a kiss.

Winston sighs, "honestly. Can you save it for the camera?"

I flip him off, not breaking the kiss and I feel John smile. I give him a last peck on the lips and rest my head against his chest as his arms come up around me.

“How long?” I ask.

“Five minutes at most.” Says Winston. “You won’t be able to sit together on the bus. Districts have to sit together, with their handlers.” He gives us a pitying look, “I’ll leave you be.”

I tense until my body starts to shake and John’s arms tighten. “I’ll find you when we’re inside.” He tells me with a kiss to my head, “Stay low and be fast. Ideally, I’ll get to you in the Cornucopia and we’ll get shit and go together. If it gets rough, I want you to run. Get out of there and stay hidden, as best you can, until I find you.”

I nod. “I hate that they don’t even give us a clue what we’re going into. Forest, mountains, jungle. How will you find me with no landmarks?”

John tilts my head up slightly.

“I won’t stop looking until I do.”

I believe him.

This is what he does. He tracks and he hunts, whether or not his intent is to kill. It’s easy to forget who he is when we’re alone. Even in training, he is so damned gentle with me. He won’t be in the Games.

I hear the sound of powerful breaks and the release of pressure as the bus comes to a halt outside.

My eyes shut hard and John mutters, “Fuck.”

I nod. Fuck indeed.

I open my eyes and look up at him. “I love you.”

He gives me that smile. The one reserved just for me. “I love you too.”

“Please board the bus in districts descending, beginning with District 12.” A voice calls.

John’s arms fall from around me, gentles descending down my arms. He squeezes my hands. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

I nod and reach up on my toes for one last kiss. Maybe the last kiss, if his plan doesn’t go to fruition. This could be the end.

Unable to resist, my arms shoot up and wrap around his neck, kissing him hard. My lips are bruised and I don’t care. At least this way I will still feel him.

Two hours left, I think as I pull away. His hand stays grasped in mine until I must step further than we can reach. Our hands part and I cross the rest of the lobby alone. I keep my face void of emotion and make no eye contact even as I feel everyone’s eyes upon me.

The Games have not begun and yet they started days ago.

I climb up the bus and to the very back. Marcus sits on one side with Winston on the other. I sit next to Marcus as I hear the District 11 tributes board.

“Hey,” I say softly as I lean back into the seat.

“Hey.” Says Marcus. “Nice hickies.”

I snort, “Thanks.”

"You ready?"

I shake my head, watching as the other districts load. "Nope. You?"

"Fuck no."

I sink down into the seat and close my eyes. An hour and a half to the arena. Two until the games begin. 

Tick tock.


	10. Parabellum

When Marcus wakes me, we are already underground. They unload us District by District and walk us to the room where we will be launched up into the Games. We have no way of knowing who is in the rooms around us, where we will be positioned when the Games begin.

I let out a long breath, twisting my braid into a bun like John had told me to.

There is a table with fruit and a bottle of water. I cannot take it into the games so I hydrate while I can.an. 

I wonder if Daisy is watching. She’s probably more anxious than I am.

I wonder if she can even imagine me coming home to her.

I wish John could meet her. She would adore him. And I was certain there was no one quite like Daisy in the rigorous and dog-eats-dog world of District 1. 

There is a knock and Winston comes in with an attendant. I offer a small smile. 

"Any last-minute advice?"

"Yes. Don't die."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Any real advice?"

"Keep to Wick. If you are separated, find a safe place to hide and wait. And don't worry about weapons at the Cornucopia. They'll turn up. Food and water won't. Take what you can."

I nod.

Winston nods to himself, "Just keep doing what you've been doing?"

"Consuming carnal pleasures like the world isn't about to end?"

He actually laughs. I didn't know he had it in him. "Keep surprising people. You're the wild card in all this."

I nod back. "I don't suppose you know where John will pop up?"

He shakes his head, "if I did, I couldn't tell you. I can only guess far."

That was likely, I knew. This was going to be a spectacle. John's fascination with me had caused everyone around us to watch like we were an old world show. The Capitol was going to eat that up.

They were banking on my death fueling John's revenge.

"Tributes, prepare to launch." A voice announces.

I exhale, "guess this is it."

I stand up and step onto the small circular platform.

"Let Wick take the lead."

I snort, "no shit."

Winston smiles again, “Be smart. Remember at all times, you are being filmed and broadcasted. Do not talk to John about your plan. The Capitol can’t know what he is planning to do. It could jeopardize your safety.”

I exhale. Twenty-two enemies in the Arena, and a world of them outside it.

Winston holds out his hand to me and I take it. He squeezes it gently.

"I will see you soon, Helen Kingston."

I feel my heart pounding in my chest.

A whirring sound fills the air as I am pushed upwards. The ceiling above me opens and I see a grey sky as I enter the arena.

.

I had watched every Hunger Games televised since I was six. Maybe even before, but I don't remember.

Some years, the arenas were built like forests. Other years, mountains or beaches or jungles. One year had taken place in a system of caves. Another had taken place in a desert.

Nothing could have prepared me for this.

It wasn't the Capitol although some of it resembled it. It was a concrete jungle. Buildings reached up towards the sky. Some glass, some concrete. 

We were in the middle of a large open park. There were some trees, a walking bridge, a small lake, or a large pond. Scattered throughout the park are bulletproof shields. All in the shade of the buildings surrounding us.

I look around for John. We are aligned in a semicircle. I am in the center, and John is on the edge. I can see him frown from here as he gauges locations.

To my left is the female D'Antonio. Gianna. She regards me with interest but she is too concerned with John to attempt a move on me. Smart woman.

To my right is Aurelio. He doesn't concern me at this stage in the competition but Iosef stands on his other side. 

He smirks at me and mouths 'dibs.'

I purposefully look away as the countdown begins. While John's interest in me would protect me from most, it only increased fascination with xdrIosef and Viggo.

"Five."

My gaze flocks to John. His eyes stretch beyond me and I know he is watching Iosef.

"Four."

His eyes flicker to me then back to Iosef. He shoots me a look of warning and I nod. 

"Three."

The tension in the air is palatable. Everyone around me is preparing to run headfirst into a bloodbath. 

"Two."

I see Iosef watching me out of the corner of my eye. 

"One."

There is a loud bang and I jump from the podium, swerving to the left immediately. I cross behind Gianna and the King, still making way to the cornucopia. A glance to the right shows me that Iosef is following me.

Idiot.

I can sprint well enough but he is faster. As he reaches me, I stop, planting my feet in the ground and crouching. He crashed into me and falls over me to the ground. I lose my balance and topple to the side, rolling to my feet as John had taught me.

Iosef grabs my leg and I fall, face first towards the ground. I roll midair and hit the ground with my back, winding me. I gasped and Iosef uses the opportunity to pin me to the ground. His first rolls back and he swings down. I'm able to jerk to the side as he slams it to the ground. I throw my knee up and his whole body winces. I use the distraction to roll him off me and I lunge to escape.

Again, he grabs my foot. I kick back, hitting him in the face. 

A canon goes off.

He lets go and I scramble away. There is a bang, and before he can rise above his knees, a bullet flies through his head in a perfectly clean shot.

I don't need to look to know that it is John.

I rise to my feet and John is running towards me. I climb to my feet and a backpack is pushed into my hands. John spins the gun and hands it to me, handle first. 

"Run." He tells me, as another canon goes off. I watch in horror as Harriet falls to the ground as Perkins snaps her neck. "I'll find you. Go!"

I nod and take off, running towards the trees for better cover. I don't look back.

I know John will be fine.

I hear another canon and I wince, even as I creep through the brush.

An abandoned city lies before me and I swallow hard. Hundreds upon hundreds of buildings. How will John find me?

I check the gun. It has two bullets left.

There has never been an arena like this. Sometimes there were small cottages within woods or little caves set up with sleeping bags but never something like this. Urban. Decaying.

I wonder how realistic the city is. 

I check my surroundings, keeping the gun in my hand, as I enter the city. I walk quickly through the streets, hearing two more cannons go off. 

It’s not John. I know it isn’t.

I wonder if Marcus is alive.

I take turn after turn, slipping through small alleys. I don’t know where I’m going. I’m less sure if John can find me. 

I try a door in one of the alleys and it opens into an empty bar. There are chairs at tables and it is lit in such a way that I expect people to walk in at any moment. I walk over to the bar. There are bottles lining the back wall but, upon closer inspection, I realize they are all decorative. 

I leave, quietly.

I don’t know where to go but I run and walk and run again until my feet ache. Every sound has me on edge. 

It is built like a city of old. There are police stations and stores, all empty of anything useful. Each and every item is decorative. I find convenience stores but none carry real food. Only models.

I keep moving. 

I’m afraid to stand still.

Another canon goes off. 

I keep moving.

I’m not sure how long it’s been since I left the Cornucopia. I’m trying to count the canons but they have slowed to a stop. The Cornucopia will have been ransacked and the survivors will be sweeping this city.

My legs ache but I can’t stop. Not yet.

I keep moving.

I only pause when I hear footsteps. Immediately, I duck into an alley and wait. They’re light but many opponents are experts at remaining covert. Many still are on the smaller side.

Addy hurries by, looking frightened and I let out a sigh of relief. But, no. A trail of red falls behind her and I note blood staining her clothes.

“Addy.” I say and she turns, eyes wide.

I hold up my hands in careful surrender.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I won’t hurt you.” There is sweat on her brow and I show her the bag I have. “I have some supplies. Let me help you.”

She looks close to tears. “Ha-Harry is dead.”

My heart stings at the loss, anger coursing through my veins. 

_ Fuck _ .

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to die, Helen.”

“Let me help you.” I ask again, “Let’s get off the street.”

I lead her down the alley and into an older building. I know she is dripping blood but nothing can be done until the bleeding is stopped. I hope against hope that there is something in the bag that can fix her wounds.

She follows me, so trusting. So desperate for help and I am nearly broken by the sight of her.

I help her onto a table and wonder how many cameras are watching us. I open the bag that John had pushed into my hands not long ago. There is food, which is no help in the immediate moment. And a blanket. Water. 

I take out the water and there are some kind of pills. I examine them but the label does not read medically. Instead, there is a symbol of a water drop. Water purifying tablets, if I had to guess.

I put them away and take out a roll of bandages, gratefully.

“Lift your shirt, little one.”

She is barely older than Daisy. 

She lifts it and I school my face so as not to wince. There is a huge bruise on her stomach and a deep incision in her side. 

She needs stitches but even if I had the materials, I did not have the skill.

I rinse it with a bit of the water and offer her a sip to drink. She takes it and I do my best to bind her wound.

“How did this happen?” I ask her.

“Perkins.” She says, rocking forward and back. “She hit me and stabbed me but then Mister Wick through a knife. It got her hand. He threw another but she got away. He told me to run.”

_ My sweet, dark man _ .

“He’s really nice for a killer,” Addy says and I try not to choke.

“He is,” I say, not sure what else can be said. 

“I see why you like him.”

She smiles at me, just a little. It feels like being teased by my sister or a friend. It feels normal and foreign all at the same time. That kind of talk does not belong in the Games. Because everyone knows we are only here to die. 

I smile back.

I’m not sure things can change, even if John thinks she can make a difference by winning.

“Helen?” She asks, looking up at me with big eyes, “Do you think I’m going to die from this?”

And what the hell am I supposed to say to that?

Because, yes. The wound is deep and she needs medical attention. She needs stitches so that she does not bleed out but I can give her neither.

Instead, I lean down and take her hand. “It’s not over until it’s over. But we have to go. There is a trail of your blood that could give our location away if we don’t leave.”

She nods and I help her back down. Her pace is slower than I would like and I keep an eye out behind us as we walk down the street.

I’m not sure what to do with her.

I’m not sure what to do in the arena. Because we are meant to kill each other. All alliances are expected to break eventually because only one person can win.

I can’t keep her like a lost little pet and expect John to kill her if it comes down to the three of us. Nor can I kill her myself. And John won’t let her live at the cost of my life. I know that as deeply as I know anything. 

But I cannot let her go on her own, either. Because it so easily could have been Daisy standing in my place, facing down the world, feeling lost and scared. And if it were Daisy, I would have wanted someone at her side. Someone to watch over her, the best that they could.

I keep an eye and an ear peeled as we continue forward. My destination remains the library. John will find me there. I know it.

We cross through streets, not seeing anyone.

And then Addy stumbles.

I catch her before she can fall and help right her to her feet. But her color is fading and the bandages are doing little to stop the blood flow. Maybe, if there was a hospital, things would be okay but that wound is too deep to manage without truly closing it.

“Addy?” I ask.

“I’m tired, Helen.” She tells me and her eyes roll back in her head.

“No, no!” I say, catching her again. I lift her up into my arms. She is heavier than I am used to carrying and I have a new respect for each and every time John casually carried me to and from our rooms.

I look around but there is nothing but old buildings and an old park. I carry her to the street corner, where the park is and I start to stumble, unaccustomed to the heavy load. I manage to get to a park bench and I sit her up and lift her shirt.

Her eyes are closed.

“Come on, Addy,” I whisper to her. But the bandages I applied to her are soaked.

I place a hand to her forehead. 

She is cold to the touch, already losing heat.

“I don’t know what to do.” I whisper, “Addy, please…”

But she is fading.

“Helen…” She whispers back.

I wrap her hands in mine, looking around, but no one is there. No one to help. No one to kill. Just me and a dying child.

“I’m here, baby.” 

“Can-- can you sing?”

“Not even a little bit.” 

The corner of her mouth tilts in a small smile, “Will you sing to me?”

And I can’t deny such a request. I try to think back, to songs of happier times. Of home.

“Deep in the meadow, under the willow….” I sing softly, rising to sit next to her on the bench. “A bed of grass, a soft green pillow… Lay down your head and close your eyes. And when they open, the sun will rise…” my voice cracks and I reach back. There is a small raised bed of flowers behind us. 

I break a sunflower off and hand it to Addy.

“Here it’s safe, and here it’s warm. Here the daisies guard you from every harm.”

I rip more flowers from the ground and lay them on her lap.

“Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true.” She sinks down slightly and an exhale leaves her body and I know, I know she is gone. “Here is the place, where I love you…”

There are daisies behind us and I tear them from the ground.

When my Daisy was little, we used to sit in the fields behind the school. I would bring her there every year as the daisies bloomed.

It does not take me long to braid them together in a chain, the way I did for my sister as I softly sing, “Deep in the meadow, hidden far away, A cloak of green, a moonbeam ray, forget your woes, and let your troubles lay. And when its morning, they’ll wash away.”

I wrap the chain into a circle, a crown.

“Here it’s safe and here it’s warm. Here the daisies guard you from every harm.” 

This isn’t right, I think, as I lay the crown on Addy’s head. She’s a baby, dying from a stab wound and somewhere, people are watching. Watching her die. Maybe it will make the live stream of the games. Maybe it won’t.

But this is what the Capitol is doing. Killing babies.

“Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true. Here is the place… where I love you.”

I feel my throat start to close and I cannot sing, not anymore.

“Fuck!” I scream, backing away and rising to my feet. “Damn it!” I kick the dirt and look around for the cameras, “She’s a baby!” I scream, “A child!” And then again, “FUCK!”

I don’t care who hears. 

I don’t. 

They can come and find me. 

Fuck everything. Fuck the Games and the Gamemakers and the High Table and everyone responsible for this bullshit.

A cannon sounds and I close my eyes.

I can’t stay here.

I can’t do that to John. I have places to be.

I raise my middle finger, spinning carefully, hoping that her death will be broadcasted. I hope that people see this sweet girl, killed far too young, wearing a crown of daisies in death.

I tighten my bag around me and take off at a run.

I do not know where to go but the sun is falling across the sky and it will soon be nightfall. I don’t want to be outside when it gets dark. I wonder if the Gamemakers have created any special creatures this year. It will be competitive enough without it. Between John and Zero and Tarasov and the D’Antonio siblings… Perkins, the King… they’re probably all still alive even after the bloodbath.

I think of my score.

They will be coming for me, eventually.

Maybe not the D’Antonio’s or the King. They all seem smart enough to be wary of revenge from John. Viggo scares me, but not as much as Perkins. She has it out for me, I’m sure. And I certainly hadn’t helped things by provoking her the day of our wills. 

My options… 

Up, down, or on the ground. 

Something makes me wary of the underground tunnels and subways. They are too dark. Too easy to conceal enemies and I am certain that there will be traps from the Gamemakers.

The ground will be crowded but up scares. It is too easy to get stuck up high, to be trapped inside a building.

My options are limited.

Sighing, I decide to take the risk and go up. It may be harder to escape but it will also be harder to find me.

I keep walking until I choose a random building.

Random is good, I think. What had John said back at the training center?

_ “Some decisions are best made at random. It makes it harder for others to predict your next move if your next move has yet to be decided.” _

Would he find me?

That scares me most. The idea that we are now in a huge arena, miles and miles long. How will he find me?

How can I leave him a signal without others being able to figure it out?

Tomorrow, I think.

I will figure that out tomorrow.

I climb the stairs of the building and choose a random floor. Not at the top, not quite at the middle. The rooms are empty in this building, which I don’t mind. I find a room with a fire escape. I lean against the opposite wall so I can see anyone coming front the outside as well as the inside and I open the bag.

I had not paid attention to the food earlier. I had been too focused on Addy’s wounds.

There are snacks in several bags in the front pocket. Mostly dried fruit and nuts. I set aside a bag of each. In the big pocket is a blanket and a sealed back of dried meat. There is water and a small Jackknife.

I take the blanket out and wrap it around my shoulders. 

I am not hungry enough to eat but I take a sip of water.

_ Find me, John _ .

And I close my eyes.


	11. An Act of Mercy

I wake up alone. It stings, just a little, but I cannot blame John. All he had to go one was the direction I ran from.

He will find me. I know he will.

I eat a little and repack my bag. 

I am not quite sure of where to go. To stay put anywhere is virtual suicide. If the Capitol catches you hiding for too long, they send their own monsters after you. If the others don’t find me first.

I climb the stairs up to the roof and gaze out at the city.

The park which holds the Cornucopia looks largely empty although it is now too far away to make out much of anything. I see no other tributes from up here but the city stretches for miles upon miles. 

I look around. I’m not sure where to go.

_ I’ll find you,  _ John had promised. 

How?

In nature, he could track me. He is a hunter above all else. But here?

My eyes catch sight of lettering, carved into marble. It is on a building, a few blocks away.

Public library.

I think back to the stack of books on John’s bedside table. Guides of survival, of herbs and poisons and flowers.

_ “This is disgusting.” She had told him, reading a description of one of the poison berries on a lunch break, “It literally makes you shit yourself to death.” _

_ “Which is why you, under no circumstances, accept food from another in the Arena. Even if you’re allies.” _

_ “You don’t believe in allies.” _

_ “I also don’t believe in death by shit.” He had wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder, glancing at the text in her lap. “Keep reading. Books can save your life.” _

I count the streets, repeating the numbers in my head as I turn on my heel. It must be miles away but I am willing to take the risk, the journey.

The library. John will find me at the library. I know he will.

I move quickly going down the stairs but I'm still relieved to hit the streets and feel a gust of wind. I stay alongside the building, walking quickly as I count each street I pass.

I repeat the new number of streets each time I pass one, almost afraid to become lost in this labyrinth.

There is a soft whirring sound and I dive down to the ground as a bullet imbeds itself in the wall behind me.

"Hi Helen!"

Perkins. 

I still have the gun John gave me. Two bullets.

I scramble into an alley as Perkins saunters down the street, totally unphased by the interaction.

I think back to the first day of training when John found me by the water fountain. What had he said?

Perkins was an expert at close combat fighting but she couldn't shoot distance. I knew she had a temper. John had said to use it to my advantage.0 When she was angry, she was erratic.

"Perkins," I say, checking my weapon. I have two shots. "Is this really your best move?"

I can hear the click of her steps and I peer outside the alley. Perkins is across the street, about thirty feet away. She shoots me a smile, followed by a bullet. It misses as I quickly move back.

I wish I knew how many bullets she had managed to find. Likely not too many, given the singular shots she was taking.

“What’s the matter, Helen? I thought you weren’t afraid to die? Or was that all just part of that sweet little sacrifice act you had going on to get Wick’s allegiance?”

“That what this is about? You pissed that John never bothered to look your way, Perkins?”

“Like I said, who knew he went for the damsel in distress?"

I have two shots. She is at least twenty feet away, standing behind an old abandoned car. 

I could go for a headshot but it would be a waste of ammunition.

I bide my time, waiting for my moment, “Do I sound like I’m in distress to you, Perkins?”

“You should be. John ain’t coming to save you, sweetheart.”

Options.  _ Think, Helen, think. _

Perkins went to the Cornucopia. She survived. She likely had more than one gun or, if nothing else, more ammunition. 

I could run, but it would only take one well-placed shot to bring me down. If she had unlimited ammo, that was a possibility, even if she was angry and erratic. 

I look down at the gun in my hands. 

This is what the Capitol wanted.

An empty street. Two young women facing down death.

They wanted me to kill her. Or her to kill me. It was entertainment for the Game Makers and the High Table either way.

I glance out of the alley again.

Nothing, aside that car, separates us. 

I have one chance to surprise her, to catch her off guard.

"Come on, Kingston. I don't have all day."

"Then come get me."

Perkins chuckles, "I know you got a piece on you. I'm not stupid."

"And yet here you are," I slip the backpack from my shoulders and set it silently on the ground. I place the gun atop it. I'll come back for it. "Right now, you have a chance to outlast a lot of the competition. You kill me now, John will hunt you down, and you will die."

"Think awfully highly of yourself for a charity case, don't you, Kingston?"

Anger stirs within me but not because of her implications about me and John. I don’t care what she thinks about me but how dare she act like this after she murdered a twelve-year-old baby.

“I’ve never killed a child, Perkins.” I angrily call.

“It’s the Hunger Games. What did you expect? If I hadn’t killed the little twerp, someone else would have.”

“She was twelve!” And I can hear the anger in my voice, causing it to shake, “She was a twelve-year-old girl reaped before she could start puberty and she bled to death because you saw fit to stab a child trying to get supplies!”

“Oh, you sound so angry! All over the little one? Does she remind you of your sister? I’m almost sad I didn’t get to kill her, but I suppose you’ll have to do.”

I breathe in, careful not to let myself become even angrier. Anger will get me killed.

“I’m sorry to say that Daisy wouldn’t have helped your cause, Perkins. Even if she was here instead of me, John never would have spared you a glance.”

Perkins stands, her face contorted in rage. She levels her gun and I run, bending as I do, forcing myself not to flinch at every bullet leaving the chamber. 

I begin to run towards her, intent on crashing into her, trying to disarm her but there is a splatter of blood as a knife embeds itself in Perkins' skull.

A cannon sounds.

I look to its source, again, hoping for John and utterly terrified when it is not my lover.

Charon stands twenty feet away, holding another knife in his hand, staring at me.

“It’s true?” He asks, “Addy is dead?”

My mouth opens but nothing comes out. I swallow and manage to murmur “Yes, Perkins stabbed her. I tried to wrap the wound but without stitches…”

“You saw her die?”

“I held her. So… she wouldn’t be alone.”

Charon nods at that. He stares at me for a moment and I wonder if it is possible for me to make it back to the alley and get the gun before he can reach me. I’m closer to the alley than to him but he is taller…

“Go.” He says, “For Addy. Just this time, and then we’re even.”

My mouth opens in surprise because of all the things I was expecting, that was not it. But I believe him.

I pause only for a second before taking the bag Perkins off the ground. I offer it to Charon but he shakes his head.

I nod, “Thank you.” I tell him before going back to the alley to collect my own bag and the gun still there.

The library is still miles away, but I walk quickly. I conserve energy but make decent time and, by the time the sun reaches high noon, I am in the shade of the building.

The library is much like the bar. It houses thousands upon thousands of books. Cases line from wall to wall as far as the eye can see. But they are as empty as the bottles. Each book is nothing more than an empty block. It does not open and it does not weigh enough to use as a weapon. It is merely decoration for the people who will view this from the comfort of their homes.

I travel up a few flights of stairs, just to put distance between myself and the doors.

I wander down a set of shelves and I sit down.

I don’t know how much time has passed but I know that I am hungry and thirsty and exhausted. I slide down the bookshelf and open up Perkins' bag.

It contains two boxes of ammo and another small handgun. That means I have three pistols and enough ammo that I can spare a few shots if needed. She has a set of throwing knives and a longer Bowie.

I open the other bag and transfer it all into one location before I take out the water and a bag of dried fruit and one of nuts. 

I take a handful of each. It’s as much as I got for lunch and dinner most days when times were rough in District 12. It’s enough to get me through without needing to worry about hunger. I sip at the water, knowing it needs to last. When I’m done, I pack the food and water back into the bag. 

I lean against the pretend books, closing my eyes.

I wonder if this moment of silence with me will be shown on the television or passed over.

I wonder if John is somewhere safe.

I hope so. 

The messenger bag I took from Perkins folds nicely into a decent pillow. The blanket is a luxury I hadn’t been expecting.

I don’t know if I was spotted going into the library but there were literally thousands of buildings across the arena, plus parks and monuments and alleys in which to hide. I doubted many would come looking here, within the building. And if they did, I was several floors up and the likelihood of them checking every wing and every set of shelves was unlikely at best.

I lean back, resting my head against the bag and curling my legs to my body as I toss the blanket over myself. I keep the gun in my hand and the knives accessible. The bag is zipped and ready if I need to run. 

I close my eyes and exhaustion overtakes me.


	12. The Library

I hear a soft thud and I fly to sit up, raising the gun as I do.

“Easy, killer,” John says, his hands up defensively, a small smile on his face. He shoots me a grin and I lower the gun, pressing my hand to my chest to feel my heart racing.

“Fuck, John.”

He takes off his jacket and belt and slides down to the floor, just behind me. He frowns, angling my face towards his. He wipes my cheek with his thumb.

“Your blood?”

I shake my head, rolling so that I face him. “Either Addy’s or Perkins.”

He arches a brow. “Status?”

“Addy was nearly dead when I found her. She died in my arms not long after. Charon killed Perkins and I was close enough to get blood on me.”

John blinks.

“Charon’s status?”

“Alive.” I say, “He said he would let me go just that once.”

“Why?”

I shrug a shoulder and lean into John. His arm wraps around me. “I stayed with Addy while she died. She didn’t want to be alone.”

“My sweet girl.” He whispers and presses a kiss to my head. “I’m sorry. I know you liked her.”

“She reminded me of Daisy. So young and innocent. She never should have been brought here.”

“No one should have been brought here.” He says with a sigh, stroking my hair. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” I muse, “Grateful, that I’m here and Daisy is not. Angry that these games even happen. Furious that this has been going on for 74 generations and no one has stopped it. Hundreds of children killed and no one does  _ anything _ .”

His arm tightens around me and I am wrapped in his embrace.

“I know.”

I laugh humorlessly, “I hate everything about this. Except you.”

A kiss is pressed to my head. “I know the feeling.”

“I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone but if the High Table was here, if the Elder was here… I would make them bleed out and make sure the last thing they ever see is the corpses of the children they murdered.”

John’s mouth twitches, “And you really think you couldn’t win the games?”

“I mean, you could have killed me just now.”

“I wouldn’t have been hunting for you this early in the game.” He tells me, “Not without being able to do this.”

He tilts my head back and kisses me softly and the pain and exhaustion from the day seem to fade. I know that now isn’t the time to be intimate but I can’t help but melt as his arms slip around me. John kisses my forehead and I sigh contentedly. 

“Are you okay?” I ask him, looking him over for scrapes and bruises. He has a cut above his brow which I gently touch. 

“I’m fine.” He promises and he lowers me back to the ground. “Get some rest while you can.” 

“Water and food in the backpack,” I say, not opening my eyes.

John is back. I can sleep without fear.

.

John is up before I am. It’s no surprise. He has a bag of his own that is open next to him. He takes a sip of water before passing me the bottle.

I push up to a seated position, resting my back against the opposite bookshelf so that I am facing him. 

“Sleep okay?”

I nod, “Did you sleep enough?”

“Slept plenty.” He hands me a large ration of dried meat. I nibble at the end. “We have enough. Eat up.”

“Enough for how long?”

“A few days. If more food doesn’t turn up, we can go back to the Cornucopia.”

“I counted ten canons yesterday.”

“Twelve.” He pushes his hair back with a swipe of his hand. “Harry was the first down. Then Charlie.”

My heart clenches. They were all so young. 

I had always known the games were barbaric but hearing John say they were dead still stung.

“Do you know who else?”

He nods, “I got Yaya, from District Four. And Iosef. And Ares a few hours before I found you.”

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for that yesterday.”

“For what?”

I roll my eyes and set the food aside. “You know what.” I push up to a squat and lean forward, straddling him as I come upon his lap. John smirks as I tuck back his hair, “Saving me. From Iosef.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“Oh, I don’t?” I press a gentle kiss to his cheek, another to the bridge of his nose. “Why, Mr. Wick, when did you turn humble?”

He surges forward and kisses me. I didn’t know how badly I needed his lips on mine. I think John needed it as much as I did. The tension seems to leave him as I nibble at his lips and then lean my forehead into his. A giggle escapes me.

“What?” He says and I can feel his lips in a smile.

“I kinda feel bad for my parents.” I say, “I don’t think watching me make out with a tribute from District 1 is going to thrill them.”

“No, I don’t imagine it is.” He presses a kiss to my temple. 

I move so that I’m sitting on his lap rather than straddling him. I lean my head against his shoulder and take a bit of the dried fruit he had out.

“Harry, Addy, Iosef, Perkins, Ares. Who else?”

“Charlie and Yaya. I saw Sofia kill that douchebag from District 3.”

“I take it you don’t mean Viggo?”

“No, the other one. Ani?”

“Avi.”

John shrugs a shoulder, “Well, she’s dead. The Adjudicator killed Julia. The King killed the Adjudicator. Not sure who killed Francis, but I saw his corpse at the Cornucopia.”

“Twelve down.”

“Ten to go.”

Ten to go. I can’t think of anything else.

Ten.

“Viggo was aligned with Iosef, but he’s dead now.” I point out.

“I don’t Viggo will last very long alone. He doesn’t concern me as much right now.”

“Who does?”

“Sofia is formidable. Definitely underestimated but I would say that Ernest and Zero are going to be the toughest to take out. Gianna is aligned with Cassie from 7. They’re both pretty good with a knife.”

“What about the other D’Antonio? Santino?” I ask, tracing patterns against John’s chest.

John shakes his head. “He’s a political player but he lost his best gun. Without Ares, I doubt he’ll make it that far. Eat.”

I eat a bit more at his insistence. 

“Do you have a plan?” I ask him after we pack up the rest of the food. 

“Fuck shit up.”

I smile softly, "that isn't a plan, love."

"Is for me. I formally intend to spend today fucking shit up."

"How? Starting with who?"

"Whoever we find. We leave at first light.”

“We might be seen.”

“Were you inside last night?”

I nod. 

“I wasn’t. The make it cold. Very cold.”

I stroke his beard lightly. “Okay. First light, then. You should get some more rest while you can."

"I'm rested enough." John kisses my head, tugging my body closer to him. "I'd rather hold you while I can."

Tick tock, tick tock.

Time is always against us.

I nestle my head into the crevice between his shoulder and neck and inhale. He smells like sweat and blood and that woodsy smell that is undeniably John.

He's going to die for me and I still don't know how to feel other than devastated and scared and hopeless. Either way, this ends with at least one of us dead. 

But we have now. We have this row of empty books and a bit of peace and quiet. 

I savor every instant, remembering his scent and the way his arms come around me. I listen to the sound of his heart beating steadily. The warmth and the gentle exhale of his breath. The idea that I will not have him forever breaks me.

"I love you." I tell him.

His lips press to my forehead again. "I love you too. So fucking much."

I tremble and he holds me tighter. 

"It's going to be okay." He promises.

"How can it be?" I ask. 

"You'll be alive. You'll be with Daisy and you'll be safe. Nothing else matters."

"You matter." I look up at him, holding my hand to his chest, over his heart. "I'm okay with d--"

"No. No, Hel. Please, don't even say it. Not here."

I nod, holding in the tears and ignoring my urge to break down. 

"We still have time." He tells me.

"Not like we can fuck in here."

John chuckles, "such a dirty mouth."

"You like my dirty mouth." I respond softly, hoping that the cameras are focusing their attention elsewhere. 

"I really fucking do." He kisses my so-called dirty mouth, teeth nipping at my lips aggressively. I hate that we're so exposed here, in the arena. Because all I want to do is strip him down to nothing and ride him against the books until we're both good and spent.

But I can't, for a whole lot of reasons, least of all my parents and sister watching from home. We can't afford the distraction when there are still so many players in the game.

John sucks my tongue and I groan against him, ignoring the growing ache.

He pulls back with a grimace. "I hate myself for this, but we need to stop."

I pout and nod. I get it, unfortunately.

"I should probably get off your lap."

"That might be best."

I can feel with him pressing against me, tenting his pants. I slip off to the side and John pushes to his feet. 

"You good if I go for a walk?"

I nod, "sorry."

"Don't be sorry, baby." He caresses my hair back, "At any other time. Just gonna walk and think about Iosef's ugly face."

I laugh softly. "Take a gun with you?"

"I'm not too concerned." He picks up a knife instead. "Shout if you need me."

"Don't go too far."

His footsteps get quieter and I curse the world for giving him to me only to take him away again.

I redo my braid, rolling it up again into a low bun. The sun is still high in the sky and it's almost uncomfortably warm in the library. It makes me want to sleep but I don't want to risk it with John away.

I take a sip of water and relax against shelves. When John gets back, I'm going to make him nap. He needs it if were going to be up all night, even if he doesn't want to admit it.

There is a crash from downstairs and I scramble to my knees. I toss the bags and food behind the books on the lower shelf. I tuck a gun into the waistband of my pants and grab the throwing knives to clip to my belt. I rush to my feet grabbing the last gun and run towards the staircase as another set of crashes fill the hall. I hope to God no one else is near enough to hear the sounds. 

I take the stairs three at a time and yank open the door to the lower floor. A shelf has been tipped into another, books covering the floor.

John is holding a particularly large book and smacking Ernest senseless with it. Despite the latter man's size, John is holding his own. 

Ernest rushes at him, a knife in hand raised to bring down from above John. 

I grab the knives at my belt and throw the first hard and fast, hitting him in the shoulder from behind. Before he can strike at John, he drops the knife in surprise. 

"Thought you said your bitch wasn't here, Wick." Ernest snarls. 

John shoves the book up, hitting Ernest in the throat. As Ernest reaches to cover his throat, John spins and whacks him at the kneecap, dropping him to his knees. He grabs his face in his arm and holds the book to his other side. John punches him through the book.

I wonder, briefly, if I should help but I think I'd just distract him. Besides, he seems to have it under control.

John holds the book against Ernests' neck and drags him to a table. John holds the book down and pulls Ernest's head up and slams it back down, his neck breaking in a resounding snap.

The body falls to the floor loudly and John turns to me, face impassive. A cannon sounds somewhere in the distance. 

"Thanks."

I nod, "Anytime. You okay?"

"Yes. You?"

John nods and drops the book. He bends with a wince and yanks the knife out of Ernest's shoulder and steps over the body. 

"Do you think anyone will have heard?"

John shrugs, "Not unless they're in the building, in which case I say we let them come to us."

I reach out and place a hand on each cheek, examining him closely for injury.

His lips tip in a small smile. "I'm fine."

I trace the small cut on his lip with my finger. "Come on," I tell him, letting my arm fall and taking his hand in mine. 

Nine to go, I think, as we go back upstairs. John has a small limp and I pretend not to notice that we're taking it a bit slow. Overall I'm not concerned because I know what John is capable of, injured or not. Still, he needs to rest. 

I pull the blanket back from where I have shoved it and spread it on the floor. I sit with my legs out and motion for John.

He sits with a grunt across from me. I shake my head, "lay down. We still have a few hours till sunset. You need to rest. I can keep watch."

John shakes his head, "I'll be fine."

"You'll be better if you rest. Please."

He gives a gift shake of his head and scooches down so that John plays with his head in my lap. I run my fingers down his hair, taking great comfort in the way he relaxes at my touch. 

He broke a man's neck only minutes ago. 

I wonder what my parents will think, watching it. What they'll think watching this. 

I revel in his company and keep my ears and eyes open. We won't be here much longer and he needs to rest.

Ten are left. I'm not sure how we can draw this out to give ourselves time


	13. Countdown

He wakes without prompting, his body so efficiently trained. I do not even notice at first as there is hardly any change. Only when I glance down to see him staring up at me, his beautiful brown eyes just soaking in everything. 

"What are you doing, John?"

“Looking at you.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I lean my head down. “Come ‘ere.”

He lifts his head to meet me and gives me a gentle kiss.

I feel him grin against my mouth and I pull back slightly, “What?”

“What what?” 

“What’s got you in such a good mood?”

He sits up and turns back toward me. “You.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, pushing his hair back out of his face. “Oh?”

“Mhmm.” He leans in and offers another kiss which I accept greedily. "Better or for worse, I get to wake up with you for the rest of my life."

I swallow and find myself chewing on the inside of my lip. He has made his peace, who am I to argue? Instead, I kiss him again.

We should have had a lifetime of kisses but we have only days. Maybe less.

John peppers my face in kisses. “We should get going soon.”

I nod and back up so I can pack our bags. I toss him the dried meat as well as some of the nuts. ‘Eat.”

“Yes ma’am.” He says with a smirk. “And hydrate too.”

I hold up my water bottle which I have been sipping at as he rests. “I am.”

“Good girl.”

We divide everything between our bags. John leaves me most of the essentials and the majority of the weapons. He takes the rest and the luxuries. As much as I like having the blanket, I understand his thinking. If we get separated, or I lose his bag after he… after he is gone, it’s more important that I have the necessities. 

I don’t comment as he helps me secure the bag.

“If I tell you to run…”

“I’ll run.”

“And I will find you,” John tells me and presses a kiss to my head.

A canon goes off as we leave the library. John glances back at me. “Eight.” He says quietly.

I wonder who it is.

I hope it’s Zero or the Bowery King but after the Cornucopia, it’s hard to care about anyone save John.

I only hope it was painless. But knowing where we are, it likely wasn’t. 

“Stay close to me,” John says.

“How will you know where to find the others?”

“We Bowery King will go underground,” John tells me. “The Santino’s will find the classiest place and bunker down. Likely with Cassie. Maybe with Viggo.”

“And the rest?”

“They’ll come looking for me.”

I shiver. I am with the Bogeyman. 

It was hard to see him as such when we were watching the sunset or sharing private moments back at the Continental. Even in training, he was always so gentle with me. I knew the stories but it was hard to see the man killing three others with a pencil as the same man who stroked my hair until I fell asleep.

He was though.

Two sides of the same coin.

My warrior and my lover.

John leads us down side streets. I cannot make sense of his directions but, even in the night, we keep to the shadows. Every so often, he checks that I'm behind him and keeping up. It’s hours before he actually communicates with me. I’m only a step behind him when John turns, impossibly fast, and covers my mouth with his hand.

I still as he pulls me quickly into a side street and pins me up against the wall. His eyes shoot me a warning and I stay silent as he moves his hand away, listening intently for whatever it is that threw him on guard.

There is a soft and rhythmic tap, barely audible to the untrained ear. It grows louder and I wait, unsure of how to proceed. 

A figure passes the alley, not noticing us. I can’t make out who it is without moving and I don’t want to risk being seen. The footsteps grow quieter and John steps back from me, peering out at the street.

He looks back at me, “Cassie.” He mouths and I nod. 

He watches and I don’t move. I’m afraid to, frankly. Stealth is in his blood, mastered into his muscles. I’ve tripped over my own feet easily a thousand times. 

He steps back silently, lowering his head to my ear. “She’s patrolling. Gianna’s nearby. Maybe others. Stay close to me. Quiet as can be.”

I swallow and nod.

His hand slips around to the back of my pants, where the gun is stashed. He pulls it out and places it in my hand, leaning close to my ear.

“Do not use this except in defense.”

I blink at that, “Why?”

His fingers reach up and trail my face, “You’ve made it this far without killing. I want to see if you can make it to the end.”

“Is getting me to the finish line alive not hard enough? You need a new challenge?” I hiss quietly, hoping that there are no cameras or microphones close enough to hear us while looking around to make sure Cassie is still in my line of sight. 

What the hell is he thinking? It’s utterly ridiculous.

John tilts my head up and holds my gaze. I exhale.

No. I won’t fight with him here, not when we are so close to an ending that I can barely stand to think about.

“Why?” I ask simply.

“I have a list of reasons. Can I give them to you later?”

Cassie is walking away and I nod. “Fine.”

He gently kisses my forehead, and we are off. 

John adjusts his bag and slips out onto the street. He doesn’t look any different than he ever does when he’s walking but his footsteps are silent. Practiced and patient.

This isn't a mission to kill, not yet. This is tracking. They follow Cassie from a safe distance, carefully noting each move. 

The district seven tribute circles the same expanse twice before going down the stairs to an old subway.

She goes and we stop.

"We wait here." John says quietly, "we see if anyone else comes out. We know she's allied with Gianna but there could be more down there."

I nod, leaning against a wall. We hide in the shadows.

I am conflicted. I hate everything about this. I hate that I am technically taking part in a hunt and I hate that. But I won’t make John do it alone. 

He doesn’t want me to kill and… I don’t know what to make of that. 

It isn’t the prestige or the glory. He doesn’t plan to live long enough to soak that up. Nor does he care about how he is remembered. Not when he cares about so few of the living. And despite what others think of him, John is not bloodthirsty. He’s just a talented killer.

Gianna comes out, holding a small revolver. She walks away from us but Cassie is nowhere to be seen. I look to John but he is content to stay put.

“We wait.” He tells me again, “They’re taking turns patrolling. If it’s just the two of them, Cassie will have the next turn. If there are more allies, we’ll find out.”

I nod. It makes sense but it’s a long wait. John moves over and squats down next to me, eyes sharp and ready.

Time goes by. The shadows move around us and when the sun is overhead, I ask him again. “Why?”

He is silent. I begin to think he is not ready to answer when he finally says, “Killing people changes you. I want to…” He considers his words again and I know he is trying to hide the plan from the Capitol, “I want you to live in the Games the same way you have in life. I want you to be the same person you were before you volunteered.”

I’m already different. 

Weeks ago, my biggest concerns were passing my tests so that I could manage to get some sort of job outside the mines, and making sure there was food on the table for my little sister.

Now, my biggest concerns are surviving until tomorrow. Trying to figure out, against all reason, how I can save John Wick.

“And if we make it to the end... “ I say quietly, also considering my words carefully, “What if I have to kill you?”

“One is better than two.”

I snort, “Killing the man I love is going to be okay because at least he’s the only one I killed?” I say almost mockingly. I shake my head, “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“It’s the Games. Twenty-four go in,” he repeats what I had so often said in the training center. 

One comes out.

I close my eyes and shake my head. Not today. I’m not going to do this today.

I swallow the lump in my throat and look to John. “Let me help you.”

But he shakes his head.

“You said you had other reasons?”

“Yes. But… I’m not sure I can put it into words. You’ll find out soon enough.”

And it clicks. The video will. 

He had never intended to make a will until me. Because John Wick was supposed to win the Hunger Games. He was supposed to be the victor. We all knew it, even if idiots like Iosef thought they had a chance.

“You’re too good for these Games. I don’t want you to give the Gamemakers the satisfaction. I don’t want the Elder or the High Table or anyone to see you play along with this bullshit.”

“Even as I trail along with you? Watching you do the things that I am supposedly too good for?”

“You are too good for this.” John says and there is an edge to his voice, “But think, for a moment. What is the point of the Hunger Games?”

I know my history. The Hunger Games prove that the Capitol still controls us.

“And what would it mean,” John continues, “For you to… make it to the end without…?”

Without killing. A victor who survived without ever killing another.

Unheard of. Impossible.

“If you have to kill to defend yourself, fine. But if I can get you all the way to the end without shedding blood… maybe…”

I understood his point. Maybe the Capitol will see they don’t control us. Not all of us. His hand links in mine. Not really.

I squeeze his hand and rest my head on his arm.

I don’t know what I want or what I think or what I should feel as the world crashes and burns around me.

I wish I had John’s focus. His ability to sit still and listen and watch and wait.

After about two hours, Gianna comes back. She is sweaty under the midday ‘sun’ and disappears in the same subway tunnel where she had come from. We do not move and, after ten or so minutes, Cassie emerges, rewalking their route yet again.

“Odds are that they are alone,” John says as Cassie disappears. “Stay here--”

“No.” I shake my head, “You’re not doing this alone.”

“You’ll be safer--”

“There are no guarantees. Zero could show up. Or the King. Or any number of High Table creations.”

John looks almost tortured but he nods, “Okay. But stay close to me and if I tell you to run, so help me, Helen…”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll run.”

He cups the back of my head and pulls me in to kiss my forehead.

John stands and I follow, wincing at the feelings of pins in my legs. 

We descend down into the darkness. John spots a tripwire and throws a hand back. Carefully, he steps over it before reaching back and helping me.

I keep my eyes peeled after that, blinking as they adjust to the darkness of the underground. Coming from a mining district, it didn’t take too long.

A soft glow of light lingers from ahead. They have lanterns. Foolish, I think, for it leads us like a beacon. We take careful steps so as not to alert anyone to our presence.

Gianna D’Antonio is sitting with her eyes closed against a far wall. If she opens her eyes, she will see us. I wonder if anyone is close enough to hear if she cries for help and I don’t know what to say.

I know John does not want me to kill but I do not think there is a way to leave the Games innocent. Not without dying and even then, it was a longshot.

Addy died innocent.

I am not sure I will live the same.

John signals me to wait and I stop, standing against the wall so I can keep a clear view of both Gianna and the opposite door should anyone else come.

And John steps into the light, looking every bit like an avenging angel. He moves so gracefully, so carefully, he almost floats. He is glorious to behold and I feel a twinge of pride that he is all mine. 

They call him the Boogeyman but they are wrong. He is all that and more.

Gianna opens her eyes and there is a flash of fear.

“John.” She says.

“Gianna.” She has no gun. It is clear that she and Cassie are passing the only one they have between them.

“You know, I believe in another world, we could have been friends.”

“Perhaps.”

“But now you are here to kill me.”

“Yes.”

I look back, making sure we are still alone. Her voice is calm even if there is fear in her eyes. I admire her ability to look death head-on.

“Pity. Will it be worth it, do you think?”

“What?”

“All this death.”

“You volunteered.”

“As did your lover, did she not?”

“That’s different.”

Gianna hums and reaches up into her hair. She pulls out a dagger and her long dark locks fall around her face. She twirls it in her fingers but makes no move to get up.

She looks behind him and catches sight of me.

“Of course.” She says, “We all thought you would die in the bloodbath. You were never meant to be a contender.”

“I know,” I say softly. For some reason, I feel empathy for her. Gianna D’Antonio is strong and graceful and, in another year, she could have won the Games with ease. She did not come here expecting to die.

She looks to John, “You know you cannot both win. There is only one Victor.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. There are still competitors. Still others out there. We still have time. But it will run out.

And Gianna pieces it together, raising an eyebrow. “Oh.” She says to John, in surprise. “Tell me, is she worth the price that you seek to pay?”

John nods once.

Gianna scoffs but leans back, still twirling the knife between her fingers. She catches it in her palm and turns the blade to her wrist. She cuts along the vein, making a deep incision before doing the same to the other side.

I blink, almost breathless at the display. “Why?” I ask, finding myself approaching the District 7 tribute.

She looks at me, “Because I lived my life my way. And I will die my way.”

I pass John and he puts a hand on my shoulder. I shake it off and kneel next to Gianna D’Antonio. The blood is pouring from her wrists, pooling onto the ground beside her.

I take her hand in mine and she squeezes it, looking at me with a strange fascination before turning her attention back to John.

“Do you fear damnation, John?”

“Yes.” He answers and Gianna nods.

“You know,” her eyes are closing now but she keeps her hand locked in mine. “I always thought I could escape it. That I’d see it coming. That’s I’d see you.”

She opens her eyes to look at John, "I suppose I am grateful that Santino will follow me to the grave."

"I'll send him your regards," John says and I shoot him a look that says  _ not now, dear. _

"Please do." She says before turning her gaze to me, "Perhaps the lamb shall be the Victor. How… righteous. Do tell the Elder, whichever of  _ you _ ,” She looks at me, “meet him, that I shall see him in Hell."

I nod.

Gianna nods and closes her eyes yet again. And her hand loosens in mine.

A cannon sounds.

I stand up and look at John. He is devoid of emotion and I reach up and touch his cheek.

"It's okay," I promise him.

He catches my hand with his own and brings it to his lips to kiss. "It will be." John offers me a small smile, “What’s our next move,  _ lamb _ .”

I roll my eyes before pausing to think through his question. “We leave. The cannon gives away our location to anyone close enough to hear it. Which means at least Cassie, possibly others. It will keep us from being trapped.”

“Good girl. Same rules apply…”

“Don’t shoot unless I don’t have a choice; run if you say run.”

“If you can, make it back to the library. If you can’t… I’ll find you.”

“I know.”

And I do. John would tear this arena apart if we were separated for too long. He would kill everyone in his path without mercy.

John takes the lead and goes back down the tunnel. I stay close.

Nine of us are left.

Nine. That means seven to go. 

I had watched years of the Games where it took weeks to get down to the final two. It had been two days and we were down to seven.

The competition was fierce. And everyone’s pace was unrelenting.

If it continued like this… tomorrow. Maybe the next day. 

I try not to think about what that means for me, for John.

I try to think, instead, of the seven people left.

Cassie. Zero. King. Santino. Viggo. Charon. Marcus.

Seven people are still out to kill us.

We reach the stairs and John goes first, signaling for me to stay at the bottom of the stairs while he goes up. I stop.

John walks up, not looking back. If someone is there, he does not want them to know that I am with him.

“Hello Cassie.”

“Hello John. You working?”

“Yeah.”

“Good day?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You bastard.” There’s a shot and John jumps out of the way and out of sight.

Every part of me longs to run up the stairs, too draw my weapon. But I don’t. I can’t. I told him I wouldn’t. My presence would only distract him. 

And he asked me not to use my gun unless I had to. And I cannot deny him anything.

The sounds of the skirmish, however, quickly stop.

A cannon sounds.

"It's safe." John calls and I rush up the stairs.

Cassie is dead and John stands over her corpse.

He wipes a knife on his pants before slipping it back into his belt.

Six left.

I kneel by Cassie’s side. She has an empty gun, which I take and put into my backpack. If I found bullets that matched and I left the gun, I would never forgive myself. I also take the knife from her hand and check her pockets.

“Grenade,” I tell John and show him.

“It’s smoke.”

“Still useful.”

“Agreed.” 

I find nothing in her last pocket. I throw my backpack on again and stand up. I reach for his hand and entwine our fingers.

We cannot stay anywhere too long.

So we move. 

“Destination?” I ask after we go down a few blocks.

“Away from the cannons. Then we regroup.”

John keeps his eyes scanning the horizon. The years of training have kicked in. I barely know what he is looking for. 

Just when I start to feel tired, we stop. John pulls me into a building and takes off the bag from around his chest.

“Drink some water. We’ll rest here for a bit.”

I nod and squat to the floor, taking out the emptiest bottle of water. I take a sip and hand it off to John. He stares out the window.

Watching, waiting.

He should, by all rights, win the Games.

A cannon explodes and I flinch, looking at John.

“That wasn’t far.”

“No.” He agrees eyes narrowed. “Be ready to move.”

I close the bag and rise to my feet.

“Five.” My voice shakes. My nails bite into my hand. 

I can’t. Not now.

Another cannon.

“Jesus fuck.” I swear.

“Four.” John says.

But we do not know who is left.

I hope against hope that Marcus is still alive. That it is Viggo and the Bowery King or Zero. I even hope Charon was spared from that cannon blast, although its pointless.

Charon will die.

Marcus will die.

He is thinking hard, his brow furrowed. He’s stressed and he shouldn’t be. There is no one in this arena he can’t take with both hands tied behind his back. He could take the remaining four together, no matter what combination it turns out to be. But he’s afraid to do so because he isn’t sure he can kill and protect me.

“We need to move,” I say and he nods in agreement. “There is likely another person out there.”

“Same rules apply,” John says and I nod again. “If we get separated…"

"The library. But we won't."

There are four left. I will not leave his side until the end.

He keeps me close as we walk back onto the street. Normally, John uses his knife to avoid loud gunshots but now, he keeps a gun in his hand.

If he sees anything, he is shooting.

We got down the empty street, keeping to the wall, utilizing the shadows as much as we can. 

We find Viggo's body first. A knife his in his throat, a trail of blood leading away. We follow it down the street, leading up the steps to a brick building.

I inhale sharply and look away.

Marcus.

He was badly beaten, his face bloody and bruised.

"It looks like Viggo beat him but Marcus managed to kill him back." John wraps his arm around me tightly. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head. "It's the Games."

"He was a good man."

"He was." I swallow hard, "we should keep moving."

The King, Zero, Charon, and Santino are still alive. And they would be coming for us.


	14. The Fire

We find an old theater to spend the night. I offer to take first watch but John won't hear of it. I push but he doesn't budge.

I finally agree after making him swear to wake me after a few hours. And then I lay down, leaving me to try to fall asleep without the images in my head of… everything.

Gianna slitting her wrists and then holding her hand as her life slipped away.

Marcus, my friend, horrendously beaten into death.

It was only day two. 

I close my eyes and I see Addy.

Little Addy.

Lifeless eyes of the fallen.

It is only day two and we are in the final six. It is only day two and I am terrified that if I see John's lifeless body that I will never recover.

He puts a hand on my head and strokes my hair.

I close my eyes again and breathe in his scent.

…

He wakes me, as promised, before handing over the gun and several knives.

I kiss his forehead and remind him that I love him and I wonder if those words have ever been spoken in the arena before. 

And I sit, keeping an ear out and an eye open for anything out of the usual. I blink and pinch my arms to keep awake and again, I am amazed at what John is able to do. What he has done to get to this point, just to shape his abilities as well as he has. 

I struggle just to stay awake.

I hear the sound of a door, off in the distance. I’m not sure how far away it is but the shock of the sound in the quiet of the night throws me for a loop. It could be anything.

The pseudo-wind of the Arena. A Capitol-created monster, although I doubted they would bother. What was the point when we were already down to six survivors in three days? Could it be another tribute?

Zero would not have made a noise. The Bowery King would have charged with a yell. That left Charon, who promised no more mercy, or Santino.

_ Or nothing _ . 

She glances at John.

He is asleep and resting.

I wonder if I should wake him up but… it is probably nothing. I slip to my feet gently and tiptoe from the room. I won’t go far. I won’t even leave the room. But I feel the need to check, to be sure that it truly was nothing.

I glance out of the room, a knife in my hand.

But I am grabbed, a hand around my mouth and I am yanked into the hall. The hand around my chest loosens to grab the knife I carry but I throw it across the room. The glass window. It shatters and I know John will wake up.

“Little bitch.” Santino bites out in my ear. I thrash against him until he brings a knife up to my throat. “I would stay very still if I were you.”

He moves his hand from my mouth and wraps it around my chest, pinning my arms in place. “Or what, Santino?” I ask, purposefully alerting John to exactly who it was who had found our location “You do know how to use that, don’t you?”

He grits his teeth, “Better than you do, Twelve. Where is he?”

“Who?”

He presses into my neck and I feel a trickle of blood.

“Not your best move,” I tell him.

“Is he here?”

“You’ll have to be more specific. There were at least ten men selected for the Hunger Games. Eleven women. One non-binary. And two, I’m not even sure were human--uh!”

I grunt as the knife slits a little more.

“Where is Wick?”

“How should I know?”

Santino hisses into my ear, “Because Wick always knows where his whore is. I should have known that first night that there was something wrong with the two of you. We all knew you were fucking but who could blame you? Your only chance for survival was to take John Wick’s cock and--”

I see John out of the corner of my eye but I signal with my hand for him not to approach. I can handle this.

“I think you’ll find I don’t play nice with a dagger to my throat,” I growl and I quickly move my head to bite at his hand. Santino drops the knife in shock and I jump off the ground, forcing Santino to support all my weight on one of his arms. 

He is all talk and staggers under the pressure. I slam my feet back into the ground and lean forward. Santino is launched over me, rolling down my back as I rise to my feet. 

The moment I am clear of him, John lunges forward. Before Santino can register what has happened, John has snapped his neck.

A cannon sounds.

“Are you alright?” John asks and I nod placing my hand upon my neck. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding. Are you sure you’re--”

“John.” I interrupt, looking up, “Do you… smell that?”

“Smell what?”

There is something sharp and putrid in the air and all of the sudden, the sprinklers in the room turn on. But it is not water falling from the ceiling.

“Gas.” John says, “Run.”

“Our things!”

“No good to us burned alive. Go!” 

He grabs my hand and we rush towards the exit. There is a loud WHOOSH and the building is swept up in flames. 

We run but the flames are faster and our clothing is completely drenched.

“Fuck!” I say as I sprint, feeling the flames lick at my heels and ignite my pants then my shirt.

It's burning and fuck it hurts but we can't stop or we'll die. John breaks through the door, shoulder first and we are back on the street.

He grabs my shirt and yanks it off and over my head. I kick off my shoes and I push my pants off, hoping that this isn't being broadcasted to the world.

John does the same, throwing his clothes down too.

Smoke is filling the air and the building where we hid is not the only one that burns. The city seems to be on fire. They're driving us out but I'm not sure where.

My legs have burns, already blistering. Judging by the feeling of pain, my back is in the same shape.

John runs his hands down my arms, checking for more burns. He taps down a spark on my back with his hand.

"We can't stay here." I cough, the smoke burning my insides.

"Can you run?" He looks at my legs in anger.

It'll hurt like a bitch but I nod.

Our hair is both singed. His legs are not as bad as mine but I wince when I catch sight of his back. The tattoos are unrecognizable now.

"Keep low," he tells me and we move, leaning as we do.

I don't know if the Capitol did this or one of the survivors got ridiculously competitive and somehow managed to pull this off. My money was on the Capitol.

I don't know where we can run from here. I don't know how far this reaches or if anywhere is safe.

Every building we run by is on fire and my entire body hurts but we keep moving.

"There!" John points ahead.

A freeway. Empty and made of concrete. 

It wouldn't burn.

I follow John shakily to the overpass. It will give us a line of sight for anyone leaving the downtown area of the city.

The pain is nearly blinding with every step I take forward.

My steps slow even as I move. Uphill hurts more.

John glances down at me and stops.

"We're almost there," I tell him.

"You're struggling."

"I'm fine." He shoots me a look and I amend, "or I will be once we get there."

"I can carry you."

I shake my head, "we're both hurt, John."

"And I'm more used to it. Come here." I offer my arm and John bends down and helps wrap it around his shoulder. His arm goes around my back and I hiss in pain. 

“Fuck!”

“Sorry.” He drops his hand.

“It’s okay.” I say as I try to focus on my breathing, “Ugh, fuck.

John looks me over and nods, “Okay. Take two. Face me.”

I turn and face him and he puts his hands on my waist and lifts. 

“John!” I call as he holds me against his chest, the way he had when he carried me to his room the last night at the Continental. 

“Keep your legs low.” He grunts, tucking my legs around his hips.

I tuck my head against his shoulder and John carries us both up the ramp towards the overpass. The smoke clears a bit as we rise up and away from the city. I open my eyes and see the orange haze behind us, but I see no one else coming out.

Santino is dead. That leaves just Zero, the Bowery King, and Charon.

We reach the top and John slows his steps. I unhook my legs and he lowers me back to the ground.

“Thanks,” I whisper and he taps his head gently with mine in affection before kissing me.

I run my hand along his hair. A lock towards the front is badly singed. I imagine mine is the same but, thanks to John’s advice, I have kept it in a bun. That probably saved me from behind bald right now.

I put a hand to the guard rail and lower myself to the ground. Everything hurts.

Our food is gone. Our water is gone. The one blanket we had is gone, although, I’m not sure we’ll need it. At least tonight. The fire in the city burns hot.

We have no weapons. We’re stripped down to our underwear. And, we’re both injured.

John sits down next to me and drapes an arm over my shoulders, careful not to get my lower back, where the burns are. 

I lean against him and sigh.

We’re worse off than when we started.

“Did you hear any other cannons when we were running?” 

John shakes his head. “No. Not since Santino.”

Which confirms my theory that five of us are still alive.

We need to plan. We need to rest. We need to figure out where to find weapons.

“I guess there is one small bright side,” I say after a moment, and John looks at me in disbelief. I shrug a shoulder, trying not to wince as it tugs my back, “At least we weren’t in the library. The whole place would have ignited all at once.”

“I guess so,” John says and he kisses my head again.

I look up at the sky and freeze. “John, look!”

He follows my gaze. Two parachutes are descending carefully just above us. John rises to his feet and snatches them from the air.

“Please be clothes, please be clothes.”

I mutter aloud and John hands me the one addressed to me. I open it and find a salve and a note from Winston. “For your burns. Apply liberally.”

John opens a package and I exhale in relief. Two outfits. A suit for John, a pair of slacks, and a satin shirt for me.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I say, looking at the outfits that so clearly came from either the luxury district or a wealthy Capitol civilian.

I almost expected the Gamemakers to send us new arena suits, if only for the sake of decency.

“Better than nothing,” John says, handing me the outfit for me. “I think this is the first time District 1 has ever sent a tribute from another district a gift.”

I’m… honored. But also, uncertain. The Director knows of John’s plan and I’m sure she was not pleased to have money allocated towards me. 

“I got burn cream,” I say and John takes it, opening the salve and dipping his fingers into it. 

“Turn around.”

I do so and almost cry in relief at the cool sensation against my skin. My back still aches but the immediate burning is gone. He kneels down and repeats the motions with each of my calves. 

_ Incredible _ .

When he is done, I take the tube from him and step behind.

“I’m fine, Hel--”

But I ignore him. I’d rather ignore him and apply it then fight with him. 

Three. Three. Three.

The number echoes in my head. The survivors are slowly dying out and soon, John and I will be forced to make a choice. In his head, it is already made. And I have avoided bringing it up because I know how he will react but… he has to know that I can’t just let him die. 

When his back his covered, we dress. The clothes stick to the cream but I can’t bring myself to care about such a small discomfort.

“Rest.” John tells me, sitting down on the overpass. “I doubt anyone will attack us tonight.”

“In the morning,” I say quietly, “We’ll have to figure out weapons. And water.”

“I know. But for now, sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

I rest my head on his leg, laying on my side to keep my back and legs from being on the ground.

I close my eyes.


	15. Vows

There’s a loud bang and I shoot up, reaching for a gun that isn’t there.

“Easy,” John says quietly. The sun is barely breaking the horizon and the smell of burnt ash permeates the air.

I look around and remember last night.

Keeping guard. Santino’s attack before John snapped his neck. The gas being leaked from above, spraying on our clothes before a fire ignited.

I am… actually grateful for Santino.

If he had not attacked when he did, John and I might have been too far from the exit to make it out alive. As it were, we escaped with severe burns but nothing that would cause us to perish.

I remember running and flames licking at my skin. The pain of the injuries before both Winston and the Director managed to get us a salve and fresh clothes.

I feel ridiculous in fine clothing but John looks perfectly at home in the three-piece suit someone thought to send.

“Was that a cannon?” I ask, suppressing a yawn.

“Yes.”

“Have you seen anyone go by?”

He shakes his head.

One more down. Four of us are left although I have no idea who has perished.

Was it the fire that did them in? Or another competitor?

All I know for sure is that there are two people left.

It’s been three days and there are four of us alive.

It seems ridiculous for the High Table and the Gamemakers to have started that fire. They would ruin all their fun of watching kids torment each other, pushing an event to end that they usually liked to continue for at least two weeks.

But on the other hand, I don’t see how it would be possible for any of our opponents to complete such a feat. 

I lean against the wall next to John. “You should rest.”

“Not tired.”

“Really?” I ask, “You barely had half a night’s rest before Santino attacked and we were ambushed by fire.”

“I’ve gone longer on less.”

And that’s that. He seems fine to stand and stretch before offering me a hand up.

I wish that Winston had been able to send water, too. But if he hadn’t… there was probably a reason.

He could see more than we could, I know. 

“Do you need a minute?” John asks me.

“For what?”

“To head out. I stashed some weapons on a terrace just outside the park we started in. Just in case.”

_ Of course he did _ , I think.  _ He’s John Wick. _

I offer him a kiss. “Clever man,” I say. “Turn around, take off your shirt.”

“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to do that here?”

I smack his arm. “For the burns.”

“I don’t need any--”

“Don’t try me, John,” I say snagging the container off the ground. It is still three-quarters full. 

He takes off his jacket and his vest and lets them hang over the guardrail before he tugs his shirt out from his pants.

“Suits seem really inconvenient.”

“Usually.”

I push his shirt up and reapply the cream. I’m not sure if his burn is actually better but it looks far less angry and red then it had last night.

“Your turn.” He tells me and we repeat the process. Even with my back completely burnt, I think it is worth it just to have his gentle touch rolling down my spine. He kneels down and raises each pant leg to repeat with my calves.

He stashes it in his pants pocket and I convince him to leave the vest and suit jacket behind. There is no reason he needs them, I point out.

“Except they make me look good.”

I smack his arm again and he pretends to wince.

Such a liar. I’ve seen John take punches that make him raise a brow.

We leave the overpass and continue to walk along the highway back towards where we started. 

Although I could hardly recall the direction we came from, John seems to have this all mapped out in his head. He takes us the long way, around as much of the burning city as seems to be possible. 

I can’t help thinking that it is a small mercy that Addy died from blood loss rather than burning alive.

A larger mercy that Daisy isn’t here.

I can’t figure it out. If it was just our building, maybe I could consider that a competitor somehow found gasoline and slipped it into the system. A long shot but still possible. But the entire city was in shambles.

The buildings that hadn’t burned to the ground were no longer structurally safe. 

Why would the Capitol burn the city? Why would they try to destroy it all three days in?

“John,” I say quietly as we walk down the street, “Does it feel as if…  _ they’re  _ trying to speed up the Games to you?”

I know he knows who I mean.

“Yes.”

Of course, he’s considered it.

“Why?”

“Because they know.”

I suspected it too but… "how?"

"I don't know." He says honestly. "We could have been overheard at the Continental. Or the Director could have told the High Table in hopes they'd kill just you."

"Or that I'd die in the crossfire."

"It's possible. We haven’t said anything directly but…”

We are being monitored, at every moment. Even if it isn’t broadcasted to the public, we are being watched.

It wouldn’t take a genius to see what John is doing, listening to him, hearing Gianna make the connection... 

But the fire didn’t kill us and though we were burned, we were sent packages.

Star-crossed lovers, of course, would garner attention in the Capitol.

The handsome killer from the luxury district falls for and protects the innocent volunteer from the mining district. The richest district with one of the poorest. The killer with the sacrificial lamb.

No wonder Winston started to support me spending time with John.

“It’s going to be okay.” He tells me and I nod.

Because what else could I say?

Of course, things aren’t going to be okay. We’re being hunted by at least two survivors, one of which had to be Zero, and the entire Capitol just tried to burn us alive.

If Santino hadn’t found us… we would have died in that old theater.

They fear what John can do, what we could do, so much.

That gives me a bit of comfort. We’re clearly doing something right if they are that afraid.

I link my hand in John’s, entwining our fingers.

The corner of his lips twitch and it occurs to me that the opportunities to see John’s smile are dwindling.

Because there are four of us left and with every person who dies, we come closer to an inevitable end. A stand-off. 

I cannot kill him. And I don’t think he could kill me, even if he wanted to.

We will be left at an inevitable impasse.

He squeezes my hand as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s lost too, but we can’t discuss it. Even if the High Table already knows, we can’t address it or else I’m certain that they will kill us directly before we can even react.

Eventually, the park comes back into sight. We walk on the outskirts of where we started, close enough to see the Cornucopia but far enough away that we would not be targets to anyone else coming back here.

We walk past it and beyond, to the terrace John spoke of. There is a fountain spraying what I imagine must be water with chemicals.

Beyond it, there is an enclosed fixture and John warns me, "stay close."

It is open on both sides and has plenty of places once could hide or be waiting to ambush us.

As it turns out, it's empty and John jumps up to the ceiling and yanks down a bag.

I shake my head in wonder.

The rest of us were surviving but John Wick was  _ thriving _ .

John releases his grip and lands easily on his feet and hands me the bag. I open it and breathe a sigh of relief. A single water bottle and dried meat.

My stomach growls in appreciation and John jumps back up. 

I blink as he pulls himself up and moves to a single hand to grab something else.

He drops back and my mouth drops open.

“That’s a sword.”

“Good eye.” 

I flip him off and he slings scabbard around his chest, mounting it to his back.

“They train you for swords in District 1?”

“They train us for everything. You should see what I can do with a crossbow.”

But I never will. Either way, I never will see him with a crossbow.

I look down and walk over to the wall and sink to the ground. It’s easier to ignore the facts when we’re moving. It’s easier to process the Games when we’re trying to survive.

It’s hard here. At this moment. And, god, John and I need to talk. We desperately need to talk and discuss this because sooner or later, we will run into the other competitors. 

“Hey,” John says, coming and kneeling by me, “What’s wrong?”

“You know what’s wrong,” I tell him, angry at the tears that well in my eyes. But I am too stubborn to let them fall. “Fuck.”

He pulls me forward and holds me in his arms. “Sweetheart…”

I tremble but shake my head. “Sorry. I just… I need a minute.”

“Take it,” John says, reaching for the bag at my side. “Eat something.”

I look away nodding and John sets the bag of preserved meat on my lap before going to keep watch. 

I wipe my eyes dry before any tears fall and exhale, harshly.

I take the bag and open it. I’m not as hungry as I was minutes ago. I feel like vomiting, but I force myself to eat a bit of the food. If last night proved anything, what was here today could be gone tomorrow.

I close the bag almost completely and walk over to John. He is walking back and forth, checking both ends of the terrace. I hand him the meat. 

“Here.”

John takes it and bends over to kiss my head.

And again, I wonder how many times he will do that before the end and I turn to walk to the other end, to keep an eye out for survivors. 

I take out the water and take a long sip.

I feel like I’m losing my mind and maybe that’s what the Hunger Games is about. 

I think about Winston, who lived as a Hermit in District 12. He never saw anyone and no one saw him. He had no family, no friends. His entire life was devoted to the once-a-year tournament.

Maybe it was the only way to survive and cope with the Games.

John had been too well-trained to let it break him but, I wonder if I survive if I will become like Winston. 

I… can’t imagine being happy after the Games. I will be excited to see Daisy and grateful to be alive but I can’t imagine going to bed without feeling a sense of loss. For the rest of my life, if I live, John will haunt me.

I turn and go back to him and John meets me in the middle. He hands me back the dehydrated meat and I give him the water and we switch to the other side. 

I still don’t see anyone.

“I don’t like how open this is,” I call back to him.

“We won’t stay long.” He replies and I glance back. He is scanning the horizon, probably thinking our next step out.

A minute passes and John calls, “Let’s go.”

I turn around and walk to the other end. John hands me the water bottle and I set it back in the bag before slipping it over my shoulders. 

And we’re moving and that makes things easier. Because when we’re moving, I can think about survival. I look out for enemies and, above all else, make sure that someone has John’s back.

I can’t afford to be distracted when we’re moving.

“Where are we going?” I ask softly.

“Higher ground. There’s a parking garage not too far away. Eventually, the others will make their way back to the Cornucopia.”

I nod. It was true. Nearly every year I could remember ended in the same place the Games started. Usually, a group took the Cornucopia early on and defended it throughout the Games but this year, it was empty. 

Likely John’s doing.

The parking garage is not too far from us, which I am grateful for. 

I already feel better between the water and the burn cream but the pain lingers.

Actually, I appreciate the pain. It helps me to focus my attention on movements and competition and the Games. I almost dread making it to the garage and having to move to surveillance only. It gives me too much time to think.

But, of course, time runs out and before I know it, we are slowly and carefully clearing each and every level of the parking garage. 

John is right, however. From the top of the garage, we can see the entire park with a perfect view of the Cornucopia. I set down the bag and lookout, trying to focus on the center.

“Are there many more weapons in the Cornucopia?”

“Yes, but no bullets. Some knives and some… more obscure weapons.”

“Like what?”

“Katars, Shurikens, all sorts of throwing stars. A mace.”

I didn’t recognize any of those. 

I kneel down and look over the barrier.

“What do you think the chances are that this is lined with explosives?”

“Slim,” John replies. “We’re on the edge of the city. A single spark would have ignited it last night if it were.”

I turn and sit with my back against it. “I hate that we have to think like this.”

“Not forever.”

And, god, that doesn’t help.

I don’t reply. Maybe silence is better.

We wait, keeping an eye on the Cornucopia. Every so often I walk around the roof, searching for movement, but keeping low at John’s behest. 

The sun travels across the arena and then it begins to sink. The temperature begins to drop but still, we see nothing.

And then, gunshots.

I peer out over the edge, alongside John. Zero is running across the open field towards the Cornucopia. He is fast and clearly had been holding back from all of us during our time in the training center.

I understand why JJohn considered him to be a true opponent. He’s a model of true athleticism.

Behind him, Charon gives chase.

That means the Bowery King has fallen.

Charon fires another shot but Zero hits the ground in a roll and avoids it. He jumps back to his feet and turns. A knife flies from his hand and Charon stops. He lingers, for an instant, on his feet before he crashes to his knees and falls, dead.

A cannon sounds.

And then there were three.

It is down to me, John, and Zero.

Zero turns around in a slow circle. He may be looking for us but I doubt he can see us if we stay low. 

“We might be able to make it down the back staircase.” I whisper, “Back towards the city.”

John is silent for a moment, “Helen…”

“I know it’s ashes but there are places we can find. This can’t be the only garage. Plus, there are the subways. We can go underground. It could take days for Zero to track us down and…”

“Helen.”

I hear it in my voice and I feel the desperation in my throat, “Just a few more days, John. Please. There’s no reason this needs to happen now and…”

“JOHN WICK!” Zero shouts. “I know you can hear me, John! I know you’re nearby! Come down here and we finish this like men! I’ll even kill the girl so you don’t have to!”

John looks ready to move, to go into attack mode.

“John,” I take his face in my hands, “Please! Please, John.” And my throat feels like it will close at any instant. “Please, not right now. I can’t…”

I swallow and a tear slips down my cheek.

John wipes it with his thumb. “We can’t put this off forever, Helen. The High Table won’t let us.”

“We can try!”

“I’ll be here when you’re ready, John!” Zero yells and I wince.

“I’m not ready,” I whisper.

“My love,” He says, wrapping me up into his arms and pulling me into his lap, “My heart... We can’t hide forever.”

“Just a few days.” I beg, “Please John. Just a few days.”

“Zero will come for us. We have an opportunity for me to meet him while you will be safe.”

“But we’ll be out of time.” I don’t mean to sound like I’m whining but this is happening too fast. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. “We were supposed to have time.” And my voice breaks. And I break and the tears start to fall.

John holds me tighter, squeezing me as if he alone can hold me together and I want to scream. I want to scream out loud because I know, I know this is being broadcasted. 

How can it not be when there are three of us left?

The world is watching and I am breaking because I cannot say goodbye to him.

I can’t live without John. And I can’t kill him.

A sob escapes me, muffled by John’s shoulder.

Zero had to shout for us to hear him from where we are, but John is right. We can’t risk Zero hearing and coming for us. Especially now.

“I can’t do this,” I tell him, swallowing hard. “I can’t.”

“You can. You have to.” And with that, I am sure the Capitol and the rest of the world know what we plan. 

Let them reign down on us. I don’t care anymore.

“I can’t! I can’t do what you need me to do.” I whisper, “I can’t do it and I can’t….”

I can’t live with it.

I know that he knows exactly what I mean. I can’t live with killing him. I can’t live in a world without him. Not happily. Not contently. 

I would be miserable without him.

And John Wick… he was it for me. There weren’t going to be any others. No one could follow him. And I wouldn’t want anybody to.

No one else would kiss me after John Wick was dead. No one else would touch me like he has. No one else would mean anything to me the way John does.

With his death, I am consigned to a life of anger and sadness and regret.

And I love Daisy with my entire heart and I want to see her but I don’t want to choose between seeing my sister and losing my heart. My lover.

“You can,” John tells me.

I shake my head.

“You can.” He tells me again. “You’re going to turn this world on its head.”

“I don’t want to do it without you.”

“You have Daisy. You have your family. And you… you are all I have. No one needs me to come home to them, Helen.”

The tears are streaming down my face and John wipes them, gazing down on me with nothing but love and affection and adoration. And he is resigned and happy and content to die and I don’t know what the hell I can say to make him change his mind. To make him do anything else.

John’s hand falls down my face, trailing between my breasts and landing on my stomach.

“And Hel… we didn’t… I should have thought about it sooner but I didn’t even realize until we were already in the Games...”

Oh my god. My mouth parts in shock and I stutter on a breath.

Of course, there is no guarantee. There is no way to know for sure but… I don’t know how many times we made love that last day in the Continental but it was a lot. We barely slept and then we woke up and… we continued.

And I hadn’t thought about it because… well, I thought I was going to be dead within a day. Protection hadn’t been a consideration.

Fuck.

I could be pregnant. 

It’s only a possibility but it shakes me to my core. John’s hand remains on my stomach and his gaze rests there, as well. Longingly.

I swallow and cover his hand with mine.

“There’s no way to know.” I say softly.

“There isn’t.” John agrees, “Not yet. But even the possibility…” He shakes his head in awe, “The Games are terrible and evil and wrong, but if there’s a chance that something beautiful can emerge from this…”

A baby. Our child.

I almost hope… No. I can’t hope for that.

Because one way or another, one of us must die.

And if John dies, that means I’m alone, raising our child.

I wonder… will the baby have his eyes?

“If…” John swallows and meets my eyes, “If you are… I want the baby to have my last name. I want them to know… if there was another way, we would have taken it and that when I die, there was nothing I loved more than the baby and its mother.”

And we don’t even know if I am but… fuck. I can’t kill him but he’s right… if there’s even a chance…

“Fuck.” I swear.

He caresses my face, “I didn’t think and… I’m glad that I didn’t. And it might be cruel of me to wish this on you but…”

“I get it.” I interrupt, “I didn’t think either and I truly don’t know if... but… I won’t be upset if I am.”

Except for the fact that John wouldn’t be there to see our baby.

“Please, Hel. Can… if you are pregnant,” he says it aloud and my heart stutters in my chest, “Can the baby have my name?”

I nod, frantically. “Of course.” My voice breaks again but John smiles. His real one. Not the smirk or the twitch of the lips.

The real smile, that he saves just for me.

“And they’ll know… how much I loved you both?”

“I swear.” I exhale and my breath is shaky, “I want it, too.”

John blinks, “The baby?”

“Your name. I want… I want to end this Game so that no one has any doubt that I am yours. And I want… if I am, I want our baby to know that we did this together.”

John trembles as he swallows, “Helen, it’s just us and Zero. And I doubt Zero would marry us. Even if he were qualified.”

“I don’t care about anything official. We can do this the way we’ve done everything since that first night, on the roof of the Continental.”

“Our way,” John says and I nod.

And he nods. “Okay. Okay, I, um. Just a second.” John carefully moves me from his lap and on to the ground next to me.

He yanks his shirt out from his pants and takes the sword which has been laying on the ground. He uses the blade to cut a small nick in the shirt and he yanks, tearing a thin strip.

He cuts it down so that it is only a few inches in length.

“I want to do this right.” He tells me. John rises to a knee and reaches for my left hand. “Helen Kingston… You already have my heart. Will you do me the honor of taking my name?”

“Yes.” I breathe and John ties the thin, white strip of fabric around my ring finger and I know that I will never, ever lose that strip of fabric.

He ties the knot and I kiss him.

“I’m not sure how to do this,” John says with a smile and I laugh softly because the hell if I know either. Weddings weren’t really a thing in District 12. People went to the courthouse, paid a small fee, married, and then went to work.

I rise to my knees so that we kneel facing each other.

“I love you. And I will love you with all of my heart for the rest of my life.” I swallow, “Do you, John Wick, take me, Helen Kingston, to be your wife?”

“I do.” John’s fingers run up my jaw and wrap around the back of my neck. “Do you, Helen Kingston, take me, John Wick, to be your husband?”

“I do.”

John blinks and I follow his gaze. Just above my head, a silver parachute is falling. A one is embroidered into the parachute. A present from his District. From the world of luxury.

My breath catches as I see a glint of white gold linked to the end of the parachute.

John reaches and snatches it and two rings shine up at us.

John swallows and takes my left hand again. “I guess you won’t need this…”

“No,” I tell him, squeezing my fingers into my palm. “I want to keep it. I want to remember where we were. And what we had.”

He nods and slips the smaller gold band onto my finger, next to the knotted white fabric.

And I take the larger band, my heart racing. It’s plain and it’s simple and it’s perfect. I take John’s hand and I slide it down his fourth finger before looking up and meeting his eyes.

“May I kiss the bride?” John asks and I nod.

“You better make it good.”

John leans forward and gently brushes his lips with mine. Sweetly. Lovingly. 

Because there is so much to say to one another and so much that we are going to lose out on because of the Games.

The Games which brought us together.

The Boogeyman and the sacrificial lamb, who never should have spoken to one another, but he found me on the roof. And we shared wine and he wrapped an arm around me when I got cold.

I remember that first morning. Him warning me of Perkin’s weaknesses and John wrapping my hair into a bun. His disbelief when my trainer called me ‘fodder’ and his insistence that I am trained defensively.

John kissing me, in my hotel room. Then taking me to the roof where he made me a picnic. Where he asked me to run away but respected me when I refused. 

Flashes of the days that followed.

John training me in the mornings and reading to me from survival guides during our lunches. Weapons in the afternoons and dinners on the roof, where we watched the sunset over the Capitol. 

Waking up to John kissing my face and carrying me around the Continental like I weighed nothing. Tossing bread at him during lunch whenever he dared to offer me salad. 

His anger at Iosef when he threatened me before disappearing for hours. Now, I know, he was with Winston, coming up with this plan to get me through the Games. The peace in his eyes that followed the decision.

The scores and the fall out. John showing up to make his will, which should have been a dead giveaway of what he was planning to do and I am terrified that I will be the one to watch it. The stupid interviews and John spending his time on air, not gaining support from his District, but carefully pushing other sponsors to pay attention to me. Again, I should have realized.

Dancing in his arms at a time when I thought the worst moment of my life would be the start of the Games. Now I know that there will be something worse than walking away from John and onto that bus.

I remember dragging John from the banquet to kiss him in the elevator. John lifting me up and carrying me up to his room, where we made love until the early morning. Where we may have even conceived.

John told me his plan in that room and held me as I broke down.

It was where we first declared our love for one another, even though we knew it was stupid and that nothing could come of it. 

If I had known, from the beginning, that John and I barely had more than a week together, I’m not sure I would have done anything differently. Maybe I would have made love to him earlier. I would have told him I loved him earlier. But, god, I loved him.

And as crazy as it seemed, I know that I will look back at the Hunger Games as the happiest days of my life and that… that is just  _ wrong _ .

Because this is so evil. 

Pitting children against one another to prove that a corrupt government has control over us. Twenty-one people have died already this year. Thousands since this has begun but…

John is right. Perhaps this is the only time that something good has come out of the Hunger Games.

Everything has got a price.

And he is willing to pay for my life with his.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” John tells me, pressing his lips to mine again. 

I deepen the kiss, parting his lips with mine and slipping my tongue into his mouth. And I don’t care anymore. I don’t care that people can see this. I don’t care that my parents are watching or that the Capitol is seeing me climb into John’s lap like it is mine.

It  _ is  _ mine.

John is mine.

My mentor.

My partner.

My best friend.

My lover.

My  _ husband. _

His fingers dig into my hips and I know that he is as desperate as I am to make this go further. But I know that he won’t let things go as far as I am willing to take them. He has too much respect for me to do that.

So I kiss him with all that I am and all that I have. 

I try my hardest to memorize the way he feels beneath me. The scratch of his beard. The softness of his lips. The smoky, earthy way that he tastes and smells. The fullness of his arms, muscular and taut around me. 

A tear slips loose, falling down my cheeks as I kiss my husband.

John’s hand is tangled in my hair and his lips leave my lips to kiss my jaw, my cheeks, my forehead. My nose.

He rests his forehead against mine, both of us out of breath.

I bury my head in the crook of his neck and inhale deeply.

I can never forget this.

He holds me tightly in his arms. “I will love you beyond life, Helen Wick.”

I kiss his neck.

John’s hand runs up and down my back and we sit in silence, basking in the presence of one another.

After a while, John presses a kiss to my head.

“We should get some rest.” He says softly.

“I’ll take the first watch?” I offer but John shakes his head. 

“I’d rather rest before first light if that’s okay with you. It will help me focus when we go after Zero.”

“Okay.” I nod and slide off his lap. I lay down, my head next to John’s lap. His hand runs up and down my arm.

“I love you, wife.” He tells me and I smile, closing my eyes. Hoping that the morning takes a lifetime to arrive but fearing it will come all too soon.


	16. The Price

It’s freezing when I awake and I blink in the darkness. The arena-moon is full and shines down brightly. I reach my hand back for John but I do not find him.

Suddenly, I am wide awake.

I shoot to a sitting position and John is not there. I look around but the rooftop is empty. The bag with food and water remains but the sword is gone.

“Fuck!” I swear, rising to my feet and looking out over the edge. 

John and Zero stand in the middle of the field, alit by the moon and the lights from the Cornucopia, swords are drawn.

John swings his sword low, but Zero dodges before bringing his sword up, stopping just short of John’s neck. John steps forward, pushing Zero back with the threat of his presence rather than that of a blade.

That bastard.

“Fuck!” I swear again, rushing to the staircase. I take the stairs quickly, leaping down as many as I can manage because my lover, my best friend, my idiot husband is out playing chicken with another killer.

The stairs seem never-ending and it’s killing me that I can’t see what is happening. I don’t know what is going on, if John is injured or if Zero is already dead.

Finally,  _ finally _ , I hit the bottom level and I take off at a run. Across the roads and into the park towards where we started just a few days ago.

I hear the clang of swords, which gives me relief because at least that means that John is still alive.

They are still in the distance but I am closer with every bound.

Zero hits John in the face with the hilt of his sword but John barely even stumbles back. Instead, John turns into Zero, staking his own sword into the ground and pulling Zero’s arm out in front of him. He knees up and to the side and Zero winces, but does not drop the sword. He tries to swing but John just uses the momentum to drop to the ground and toss Zero over him. 

I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there because I don’t even have a weapon. John and Zero stand on one end of the field, the Cornucopia is at the other. 

Do I risk going to the Cornucopia to find a weapon?

But as I think it, John gets the sword from Zero and swings down hard and, fuck, Zero jumps out of the way. Zero kicks at John but doesn't make contact. He flips in midair and tries again with his other leg but John leans back and dodges it.

John fakes as if he is going to bring the sword down from above but, at the last moment, cuts in, slicing into Zero’s leg. As Zero stumbles back, John strikes at his hand. Zero steps back, almost in shock. He is missing at least a finger.

He looks at John and John looks back, challengingly. 

Zero makes a slow fist with his right hand and charges at John.

John raises his sword to strike but Zero knocks it out of the way. Zero grabs the ricasso of the blade. He tries, in vain, to stop the blade from sinking into his chest but John hits the hilt and the sword sinks into Zero’s chest but John does not stop until the blade can go no more.

The sword reaches from one side to the other and I can see the blade coming out his back.

Zero sinks to his knees and his gaze catches mine.

John follows his stare and turns, catching sight of me at the edge of the field.

My heart is still racing from running, from the fear, from what I know comes next.

Zero tilts his head to the side, “After all this,” He says to John, “It doesn’t even come down to skill.” His words are incredulous, surprised, even. He looks back to me as I approach, “The careers discounted me too. And I killed them and made it to the end.”

I reach John’s side and check him for injuries. 

He has a gash on his cheek and a slice in his arm that is still bleeding.

“Give me your belt,” I say softly and he undoes it, handing it to me. I wrap it around his shoulder, as high as I can, before pulling it taught. 

“Did she kill anyone?” Zero asks John as I force a new notch into the belt to fasten it.

“No,” John says, and there is pride in his voice.

Zero sways a little but stays on his knees, “Huh. Well, that was a pretty good fight, huh John.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Zero groans, “Don’t worry about me John. I just gotta catch my breath. I’ll catch up to you, John.”

But John shakes his head, not unkindly. “No. You won’t.”

And Zero spares a look at me. “Incredible.” He says before falling to his side.

A cannon sounds and that is the worst sound I have ever heard.

A final cannon. There are no more enemies. Only me and John in this Arena.

John kisses my head before he goes over to Zero’s body, kneeling down. He opens a pocket of his pants and pulls out a small Kimber 19-11. 

“He had a gun the whole time?”

“At least three,” John notes, showing me the contents of another pocket before lifting Zero’s pant leg to reveal an ankle holster. “I noticed when we were fighting.”

“He could have killed you.”

“He wanted to prove he could kill me without resorting to firearms,” John notes, rising to his feet. The gun is in his hand and I suddenly can’t breathe.

He walks over to me and offers it.

I shake my head.

“Hel,” he reaches for my hand but I back up, yanking it behind me. “Hel, we’ve been over this. This is how it has to go.”

“I can’t.” I whimper, “I can’t. God, John, can’t we just let time pass? We can live here, I don’t care.”

“They will. If we don’t do this, they’ll send creatures after us or set fires and raize this Arena to the ground. It has to be like this.”

“I can’t!” I tell him again, surging forward. My hands reach up to his face. My lover. My best friend. My husband. “I can’t lose you. I can’t kill you. I love you too much, John, and I…”

“And you…” he pushes back my hair, “Have so much to live for. For Daisy, for the possibility that…,” I swallow and feel a flutter in my stomach, “to remember us.”

A tear falls and John wipes it with his thumb.

“I love you, Helen Wick.” He tells me, taking a hand off his face and slipping the gun into my palm.

I look down at it. It’s so small and it’s hard to believe that one press of that trigger could leave me broken.

This moment has been coming. I’ve known it all this time, even if I foolishly thought we’d have longer.

And it… it can’t end like this. 

I shake my head.

“They have to have their victor,” John tells me. “It has to be like this.”

“No,” I say because I am so done with this.

With everything.

With the whiplash of these Games.

With the Gamemakers.

With the High Table.

With the fact that they want me to kill the only man, I have ever loved.

I stand on my toes and I kiss John. Once more. One last time, just in case. Because John is right, in a way. The High Table has to have their victor. 

I kiss him like I did that last night in the Continental. On the eve of battle, back when the Games itself felt like the end of the world. I kiss him to remember what we have been through and to remind him that through all of this, he has been my rock. And I love him more than I did yesterday.

I step away from John and walk around his body to Zero. I bend down and pick up one of the remaining guns.

“What are you doing?” John asks and I turn, walking back over and handing him the gun.

“I’m not playing their Games anymore.”

“Helen,” He shakes his head, unwilling to take it.

“Trust. Me.” I say. “Please, John.”

He takes the gun and looks at it in surprise.

I know if he put the gun up to my head, he would never be able to pull the trigger.

Just as I know that I will never be able to do the same, with the barrel to his.

I swallow and lift the gun, placing it against my throat, my head tipping back and up.

“Trust me,” I whisper again and John does the same.

There is fear in his eyes for the first time since we entered this Arena. If this doesn’t work, we are both dead.

But I’ve asked him to trust me and he has. 

“I love you,” I tell him, taking his spare hand with mine.

“I love you.” He echoes, “Together?”

“Together. One.”

“Two.”

I smile softly, staring at my husband. If this is the last thing I see… it will be okay.

“Three.”

I press my hand to the trigger when a voice echoes from above “STOP!”

We both freeze. My heart races but neither of us move the guns.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, at the behest of the High Table, we have deemed it so that the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games will hold two winners. Panem, here are your victors!”

I drop the gun and John does the same before he pulls me harshly into his arms. He encases me and I choke on a sob of relief as John presses a kiss to my head.

“You did it.” He whispers. “You did it.”

I raise my head and kiss him, hard.

My lover. My best friend. My husband.

A platform emerges from the center of the field to take us from the Arena and back to the Capitol.

I turn, watching it and John keeps an arm around my back.

He lowers his head to mine and whispers in my ear, “No matter what happens, you do not leave my side.”

I nod.

Because we are out of the frying pan and about to jump headfirst into the fire.

Everything has a price.

And I wonder how we are going to pay for this.

We walk over to the platform and John keeps his body wrapped around mine, almost as if he is afraid we will be attacked in this last instant. But the platform sinks into the ground and we have survived the Hunger Games, together.


End file.
